King and Lionheart
by Kishire
Summary: Wounded and chased out of Hueco Mundo after rebelling against Aizen, Grimmjow finds himself a quiet spot in an abandoned warehouse somewhere in Karakura Town to recover. He didn't expect anyone to find him, let alone an eight year old brat with orange hair who asks too many questions and attaches himself to the former Sexta like super-glue. (Canonic AU, eventual GrimmIchi)
1. ARRANCAR

**2/11/14 Note: **This will be a canonic AU in which the timelines are a bit mixed up and other canon facts are altered. I don't want to give too much away since it's all plot-related and it'll be cleared up in the course of the story (which will take place over a span of 12 years), so for now, if the summary was enough to pique your interest, welcome to the story and I hope you'll enjoy! Please leave a review if you can! Also, rating will change to M in the future, so there's that ;)

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**I: ARRANCAR**

"Oi, come back here, freak!"

He runs as fast as his small feet can carry him, the sounds of hollering from his pursuers following him closely. Slipping into an alleyway, he nearly trips over a trash can but manages to keep on running, lungs burning in his chest and sweat dripping from his forehead.

"Ha, look at him run, what a wimp!"

If they catch him, he'll come home with more than a few bruises this time. Mrs. Fukui will yell at him for starting a fight without listening to his side of the story and Mr. Fukui will definitely send him up to his room without dinner as punishment. His adoptive parents hate it when he causes trouble for them—or at least, that's how they see it.

Ichigo's parents died when he was very young. He barely has any memories left of them, but he knows little bits and pieces from what Mrs. Fukui told him. In one bout of anger, she mentioned that her mother had been pregnant when she died in the car accident. Ichigo often wonders what it would've been like to have a sibling, a younger brother or sister to take care of.

Sometimes he thinks it would've been much better if he'd had an older brother, though. If he had a strong older brother, maybe the other kids in the neighborhood wouldn't bully him as much as they do. They all know he's adopted; that and his bright orange hair have turned him into a target for ridicule.

Legs starting to ache, he takes a turn and finds himself standing in front of a dead-end. The sound of multiple footsteps is nearing closer fast.

"Where did that freak go?"

"Come on, I think he went this way!"

Ichigo is completely out of breath, but a sense of panic propels him to take action. He spots a door on the left side of the dead-end alley, and in desperation he runs to it, praying that it isn't locked.

Luck is on his side as the heavy door opens with a slight creak, and he slips inside, shutting it quickly and looking around. The building he's in is devoid of any furniture. Some of the windows are cracked or missing entirely, while the floorboards look old and dusty. There's no light, but the sunshine from outside illuminates the interior enough for him to make out his surroundings.

Panting and wiping the sweat off his forehead, he distances himself from the door as he hears his bullies run past the dead-end. Clearly it's not safe to go outside quite yet.

Deciding to venture further into the building, he notices there aren't any rooms; just giant, empty spaces. It looks to be an old warehouse of some sort. Taking a deep breath, Ichigo decides to explore. Maybe he can make this a permanent hide-out? It's close to his house, and it would make a nice hiding spot for whenever the other kids go after him again.

The ground floor has nothing of interest to offer him, so he heads to the stairs. The second he goes a step up, a burst of wind howls down, and while anyone else might've attributed it to the lack of windows he can sense there's something different about it.

Ichigo, aside from being adopted and having orange hair, has another quality that separates him from his peers: he can see and talk to ghosts. He's never told anyone else this, because there's no one who would believe him. Some kids already think he's crazy because he talks to the ghosts often, seeing as how no one else wants to talk to him. Most of them are very friendly, though they never stay for long.

He's felt it before, the energy propelling the wind blowing into his face. It's similar to that of the spirits he encounters wandering around the city, but it's so heavy that it's (ironically) making it hard to breathe. There's something about it that has a chill running down his spine, giving him goose bumps all over. A spirit is definitely up there, but it might not be a friendly one.

"Hello?" he calls hesitantly once the breeze subsides, still frozen at the bottom of the stairs. He receives no reply, but the thick energy seems to pull back a bit. He should probably leave, but it's the first time he's felt a presence like this, so he can't help his curiosity.

Taking another step, he pauses cautiously. When nothing happens, he proceeds up the stairs, eyes wide as the look over his surroundings.

It's just as empty as the ground floor. He finds a few empty cardboard boxes in the corner of a small room, and a few long boards of wood and steel pipes, but nothing aside from that. The presence is definitely around here somewhere—maybe further up?

The third floor yields the same results as the second, but the thick energy now feels nearly suffocating. Ichigo takes a moment to control the breaths that are starting to become more and more shallow the harder it gets to breathe, lingering a bit as he tries getting used to the sensation. It's like what he imagines climbing a mountain might feel like, except with the added weight of that energy pressing down on him.

Stubborn in finding out the cause of it, he heads up to the uppermost floor.

This floor has several rooms, unlike the first three. It looks like it used to be an office of some sort, if the remnants of an old desk and the broken pieces of an old chair tell him anything. He walks from room to room, heart beating faster and faster as he knows he's close to finding the spirit.

Walking through a long hallway, he checks all the rooms, until he ends up at the last one on the right. His hand is shaking mildly, the energy radiating from behind the door giving him a mild headache.

He should turn around and leave. Nothing good can be waiting for him behind the old wood, but he can't help himself. He's come this far already, so he might as well go all the way.

Tiny hand on the doorknob, he pushes it open.

The sunlight bursting through the glassless windows here is the brightest, engulfing nearly the entire space in it. Sitting against the wall on the left side, just out of reach of the light and in the comfort of shadows, is a man unlike any Ichigo has ever seen before.

The shock of wild blue hair and odd bone-shaped mask on his jaw are the first things Ichigo notices. His clothes are incredibly strange, his top an open white jacket revealing the muscles lined down his torso and his bottom a white hakama with a black sash.

The man's eyes are initially closed, but when he opens them they shift to Ichigo, who is frozen in the door way. They are even bluer than his hair, with green marks in the corners, half-lidded as short eyebrows pull down into a slight frown above them.

"Um." Ichigo swallows thickly, heartbeat pounding against his ribs as he stares at the man, caught between shock and fear. _This is a predator_, his instincts scream at him. _Run, run now, hurry, down the stairs, and don't look back. _"H-hello."

Predator or no, the man is certainly not just any spirit. The ones Ichigo has seen always have a sort of transparency about them, but this one looks completely solid, like Ichigo's hand wouldn't slip through if he reached out to touch him.

During his curious (if nervous) observation, the man's eyes are still fixed on him, and he is unmoving, a breeze from outside swaying the few locks of hair that are hanging down his forehead. Ichigo waits for a reply, and dares not to take his gaze off the man, afraid he might lunge and attack him when he's not looking. He doesn't know where this fear comes from, but it's just there, and he can't ignore it.

"You can see me?" the man says in a low tone, his voice rough and a deep baritone.

Ichigo nods shakily. "Are you… are you some sorta spirit?"

The man turns his head away and closes his eyes, leaning his head back. "Go away, kid."

It is only then that Ichigo notices that one of the man's hands has been holding a spot on his abdomen—there's blood leaking down from his left side, and his arms are covered in minor cuts and bruises and dirt.

Ichigo has never seen a spirit _bleed _before. Maybe the man is something else entirely?

"Are you injured, mister?" he pushes on bravely. Whatever else the man might be, he's clearly an adult, and Ichigo knows better than to be rude to strangers nearly three times his size. "I can help."

The man cracks one eye open at that, and he looks annoyed. "Didn't you hear me the first time? _Piss off_." He makes a gesture with his free hand, as if he's trying to swat away mosquito.

"But…" Ichigo purses his lips, frowning deeply. "I can get you water, and… and some bandages."

At this the man focuses his full attention on Ichigo again, eyes now completely open and alert. His gaze is so intense that Ichigo has to break eye-contact, getting fidgety as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"Why would you wanna help me?"

Ichigo looks up at this, blinking confusedly. "Because you're hurt."

The man narrows his eyes slightly, brows furrowing. "Do you even know what I am, kid?"

"A spirit?"

He snorts, looking away with a shake of his head, muttering something to himself about 'dumbass humans'.

"Alright, if you wanna help, then help."

Ichigo relaxes at that, grinning happily. He likes helping others when he can—it proves Mrs. Fukui wrong every time she calls him 'useless'. He's not useless at all if he can help even one person.

"Okay, I'll be right back! Don't go anywhere!"

He turns around and hurries through the corridor, heading to the stairs and getting down to ground floor. He has enough money on him to buy a bottle of water and some bandages. His adoptive parents rarely buy him things, they just hand him the money and tell him to buy it himself. He's already eight years old so it's not a problem for him, but it's just one of the many things that makes him feel as if he has no family. As if he's all alone.

Buying the items the injured spirit needs takes only a few minutes, and when he returns he's relieved to see that the man hasn't moved, or rather, that he's _real _and not something his imagination just came up with. He approaches him a bit hesitantly, and though he's getting used to the eerie energy the man puts out, getting closer to him makes him nervous, and he soon returns to lingering near the doorway as soon as he's handed the items over.

He watches the maybe-spirit splash a bit of the water in his face before taking a few big gulps and using the rest of it to clean the dirt and dried blood off himself. Taking his hand off his wound, Ichigo catches a glimpse of it and it makes him cringe—a large cut that looks pretty deep right below his ribs, still bleeding.

"Hey, mister," Ichigo asks quietly, "what did you get that cut from?"

"Who."

"Huh?"

The man starts wrapping the bandage around the cut, tying it around his waist. "Who did I get the cut from, not what." When he's leaning forward as he bandages himself, Ichigo catches a glimpse of something that makes his jaw drop and forget completely about the man's correction.

There's a large hole, in the middle of the man's abs.

"Woah!" Ichigo takes a few steps forward unthinkingly, trying to get a better view of the perfectly round hole that's covered in part by the man's black sash. "Hey, mister, you have a giant hole in your stomach, you know!"

"Hadn't noticed," the man replies wryly, continuing his bandaging and finishing it within a few seconds.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"No." The man looks at his empty water bottle and scowls. "I need more water."

"Oh." Ichigo takes the few coins he has left out of his pocket, counting them up and frowning when he comes up short. "I don't have enough money, though."

"Tch, useless," the man mutters, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall, closing his eyes as if he's about to take a nap. Ichigo is reminded sharply of yesterday, when Mrs. Fukui accused him of the same thing after he got a C on a math test, locking him up in his room after her tirade.

"I'm not useless!" he snaps, balling his fists. "I got you bandages and everything! Show a little gratitude, stupid old man!"

The man's eyebrows twitch, and his eyes slide open, the predatory look lurking underneath the lazy facade making Ichigo's anger disappear instantly.

"Kid," the spirit says, and suddenly it's hard to breathe and his knees shake with a weight pressing down on him, crushing against his bones. It's as if gravity has shifted, pulling him down to earth, and he nearly falls to his knees. "Just a word of advice; be careful who you talk back to."

The pressure disappears and Ichigo gasps, small body quivering and sweat rolling down the back of his neck. He looks up to the spirit, whose expression is completely even, eyes watching him intently.

"Wh-who… what are you?" Ichigo asks, voice shaky.

"An Arrancar."

"What's that?"

The man's lips twist and a wild grin contorts his features, eyes gleaming madly. "A monster that eats the souls of small children."

Ichigo goes pale, a whimper escaping his throat as he backs away and trips over his own feet. The spirit cackles, the dangerous air around him disappearing. Realizing it was probably a joke, Ichigo grits his teeth and fumes, getting up on his feet.

"That's not funny!"

"Says you," the man scoffs, a lingering grin on his features.

Ichigo crosses his arms and glowers as hard as he can, but the man ignores him, turning his head away and looking out the window instead.

"Hey, old man," Ichigo asks, a question occurring to him. "If you're a spirit, does that mean you died here?" Usually spirits either linger around their graves or the places where they died. Ichigo figures he must've died in the warehouse then.

"No," the spirit replies without looking at him. "I'm not an ordinary spirit, kid."

"Yeah, you're an Arrancar, but what does that mean?"

The not-spirit-spirit doesn't say anything for a while, and Ichigo glances down at his bandages, spotting the blood starting to leak through it.

"Means I ain't supposed to be on earth. I already passed onto the other side."

Ichigo frowns slightly. "So you went to heaven, or something? And then you came back?"

"Wouldn't call it heaven."

"Then what is it?"

The man doesn't reply and Ichigo starts feeling a bit more courageous now. The man is scary, but he doesn't seem to have any intention on hurting him. He takes a few steps into the room, and sits down across from the man, earning a brief glance.

Ichigo stares at him for a moment. "Why's your hair blue?"

"Why's your hair orange?" the spirit counters dryly.

Ichigo pouts. "What's with that mask? Halloween was two weeks ago."

"I super-glued it onto my face and now I can't get it off."

Ichigo almost believes him until the man snickers at his dumbfounded expression. What a jerk.

"How do you eat with that hole in your stomach?" he continues his inquiries, curious about this odd person in front of him.

"I don't eat human food."

"What kinda food do you eat?"

"Souls."

Ichigo rolls his eyes, assuming it is another one of the spirit's lame jokes and shifts on the floor, sitting cross-legged with his hands on his knees. "My name is Ichigo, by the way. Ichigo Kurosaki. What's yours?"

As the spirit gazes at him, Ichigo is strongly reminded of the neighbor's cat that always sleeps on the windowsills. The spirit has the same kind of lazy posture.

He seems to consider Ichigo's question for quite a while, before eventually responding. "Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez."

"Grimm-jow?" Ichigo smirks. "That's funny name."

At this the spirit leans his head back again, eyes aimed up to the ceiling. "Shouldn't you be going back home, kid?"

Ichigo falls quiet at this, his silence noticed by Grimmjow who raises his eyebrows slightly. Ichigo shrugs, and looks away—it's then that he spots the sword leaning against the wall on the right.

"Is that your sword?" he asks, dodging the question. He doesn't really have a home. Just a house where he sleeps and eats and happens to share with two adults. He reaches out to touch it, when a wave of energy hits him again and nearly blows him back.

"Don't touch it." Grimmjow says, his voice barely above a growl. Ichigo instantly pulls his hand back, as if burned.

"S-sorry." He stares down at his lap. "I've just never seen a real one up close before."

"Get your own when you're strong enough," Grimmjow replies matter-of-factly and somewhat disinterested, glancing down at his bandages and carefully feeling around the wound.

"Do you fight with it a lot?"

"All the time."

"Who do you fight?"

Grimmjow looks down at him. "Anyone."

"Why?"

Ichigo's question seems to hit a nerve, because his tone turns impatient. "Shut up, you're giving me a headache."

"I'm gonna learn how to fight," Ichigo starts, babbling as kids often do. "Then no one will mess with me anymore and I won't have to run from anyone. I'll protect myself and my friends from those stupid jerks."

Grimmjow doesn't respond, too busy taking off his bandages.

"Hey, you're not supposed to do that, you've only had it on for like five—" Ichigo stops talking when the wound is revealed and it looks like it has closed up, no longer bleeding. "Oh. That was fast."

"Fight to win, kid," Grimmjow says, tossing aside the bloodied bandages. "Not to survive."

Ichigo frowns slightly as he thinks about it. Fight to win? He only ever just thought about self-defense, but fighting to win _does _sound more appealing when he imagines his tormentors being the ones that are beat up for once.

Grimmjow's back to having his eyes closed, arms now folded across his chest. Ichigo doesn't know what to think of the man, but he's certainly the most interesting not-spirit-spirit Ichigo has come across yet.

"Are you sleeping?"

"…"

"Hey, Grimmjow?"

"..."

"Stupid old man?"

A burst of energy hits him again, but this one isn't as harsh as the other two were, kind of like a flick on the forehead rather than a shove in the face.

Grimmjow doesn't open his eyes as he replies, "Go home, brat."

"Don't wanna," Ichigo counters with a pout, pulling up his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. "It's no fun at home. Hey, Grimmjow, do you know any tricks with that sword?"

Grimmjow cracks his eyes open, irritated. "What do you think a sword is, you shitty brat?" he berates, though the insult makes Ichigo grin a bit. "It's a weapon, not a toy."

When Ichigo keeps giving him the pleading look, he says, "Fine, here's a trick—I'll shove that sword down your throat blade-first and you'll watch it come out of the other end."

"Ew, no!" Ichigo blurts out with a grimace, shaking his head wildly before his train of thought wanders off again. "But you know how to fight with it, right? Can you fight without it too?"

"Of course," Grimmjow scoffs, as if insulted by the mere question. "Beating someone up with your bare fists is the best kinda fight."

Ichigo, however, has already moved on to thinking about different things yet again, barely having listened to the answer. "Grimmjow, how old are you?"

Grimmjow frowns slightly, and doesn't respond.

"Don't you know?" Ichigo guesses.

"Never kept track."

"That's so weird. I'm already eight, you know!" Ichigo says with a smile, which then falters when he remembers the fact that his birthdays stopped being celebrated two years ago, not that they were ever much of a celebration to begin with, considering his parents.

"I'm definitely older than eight."

Ichigo chuckles, the gloomy thought fleeing, and he thinks he catches a slight twitch of the man's lips. He's starting to warm up to the eccentric spirit, even if he was intimidating at first glance. He's also kind of a jerk, but Ichigo feels that he probably doesn't have any bad intentions. Not towards him, anyway.

The moment is interrupted when he hears voices from downstairs. There are several of them, and he recognizes them instantly, his body stiffening. Why are they here? They didn't follow him before, losing track of him once he hid in the warehouse—was it just his bad luck that they chose this building to mess around with?

"…believe Kurosaki got away, though."

The voices are getting closer and Ichigo stands up, but knows he has nowhere to run. He's completely cornered, and he'll be toast if they check in this room.

"Heh, we'll just get him next time."

Ichigo now looks at Grimmjow, who is staring at him but seems indifferent to the whole ordeal. He's invisible to them, after all. It won't matter if they come barging in here.

"I guess this is the highest floor! Makes for a pretty sweet…" One of the voices trails off before taking on a panicked tone. "C-can't… breathe…"

The others join him, frantic.

"What-what the hell is…"

"We gotta get outta here, guys!"

It is then that Ichigo notices the energy radiating off Grimmjow, but this time, it isn't aimed at him. The heavy, dark waves are aimed straight at his tormentors, who are now running down the stairs as if the devil were chasing them.

Ichigo is wide-eyed. It's the first time anyone has helped him get rid of the bullies and driven them off so successfully, without even lifting a finger! He's overtaken by a mixture of awe and gratitude, something that seems to tick Grimmjow off.

"Don't get the wrong idea, brat," he says with a scowl. "They were just making too much noise and trespassing in my territory."

It begs the question of why he hasn't turned away Ichigo yet for trespassing, but he decides for once that it is better to grin quietly. In his mind, however, he's just made a new friend. "Thanks anyway, Grimmjow."

"Tch." Grimmjow suddenly stands up, grabbing his sword and tucking it underneath his sash. He walks over to Ichigo, who blinks and stands up hastily, getting nervous as he wonders what Grimmjow is doing.

His question is answered when the man bends down and scoops him up, holding him underneath one arm as if he weighs nothing. "H-hey! What are you doing?"

"Taking you home. Where's your house?"

Ichigo struggles as Grimmjow walks to one of the glassless windows. "I don't wanna go!"

"I'm not letting you stay here either, kid. You talk too much. Now tell me, where's your house?"

The arm holding him doesn't budge an inch, and Ichigo finally gives up, giving him a brief description of where he lives. "You aren't going to _carry _me all the way, are you?"

Grimmjow doesn't respond, and with a leap, he jumps onto the windowsill, almost giving Ichigo a heart-attack. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU CRAZY OLD MAN?"

"Shut up," Grimmjow replies lazily, and jumps.

For the first few seconds, Ichigo is convinced they'll be hitting the ground and dying instantly. It was his own fault for randomly trusting a stranger, after all, right? And it's not like anyone will really miss him—

Then, of course, Grimmjow touches down on the roof of a building for the briefest second before jumping and soaring through the sky. Ichigo's screaming ceases instantly, Grimmjow not at all seeming to care to who might see them as he practically flies, and Ichigo stares his eyes out, the whole thing feeling like a rollercoaster.

The view of the city is amazing. He can see almost the whole of Karakura Town, and for some reason, he's not scared of falling. Grimmjow's arm is around him is tight and secure, and even though Ichigo has only known him for an hour, he feels like he can trust him. Who knew spirits could jump this high?

Grimmjow lands within a minute, and Ichigo feels a bit disappointed that it's over so soon. He's out of breath, and still pumping with adrenaline as Grimmjow puts him down in the empty street.

"That was amazing!" he exclaims with an ear-splitting grin. "How did you do that? I've never seen any spirit fly like that!"

Grimmjow still looks bored, but Ichigo thinks he can read something of amusement from his eyes. "Favor for a favor, kid." It takes a moment for him to catch up to Grimmjow's meaning, when he realizes the spirit is probably talking about the bandages and water bottle.

Without saying anything more, Grimmjow turns around and starts walking away. Alarmed, Ichigo calls out to him. He's not about to let the man disappear so soon without knowing if he'll be able to find him again.

"Wait!" He's actually surprised to see Grimmjow listen, and pause in his step. "Will you be in the warehouse tomorrow?"

The spirit glances at him from over his shoulder. "Maybe," he answers, and just like that, he vanishes into thin air like a real ghost.

Ichigo slowly returns back inside, the sky having gone dark again, and even as his adoptive parents scold him for being late and send him upstairs without dinner, Ichigo finds that he doesn't care.

Today, he has made a new friend.


	2. ROLE MODEL

**5/11/14 Note: **What the hell, I did not at all expect the amount of reviews that I got, seeing how it's my first Bleach story! I'm glad you all seemed to like it, so here's the second chapter, uploaded several days earlier than I initially planned. Enjoy, and please review if you can!

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**II: ROLE MODEL**

The new week has started, and there are no classes. The vacation would've been a very dreary experience for Ichigo usually, but during these particular holidays he has found a new way to spend his time.

While Mr. Fukui is at work Ichigo wakes up and goes downstairs for breakfast that Mrs. Fukui has prepared for him. She never eats with him when her husband is not present; she sits at the head of the dining table, an ash tray where her plate should be with a cigarette between her lips, and watches him wolf down his food with a displeased glare. Instead of correcting his eating etiquette, however, she simply takes another long drag from her cigarette.

He's used to it, so he ignores it, and hurries outside as soon as he's finished. There's still a smudge of strawberry jam on the corner of his mouth and he nearly bumps into several people who are heading to work, but he can't help it. He's excited.

The morning is fresh and breezy. It feels as if the sun has just woken up, the cloudless sky greeting him with bright rays of light as he breathes in and out, for the first time in a long while feeling optimistic about the rest of the day. Crossing the street, he tries to recall the way to the warehouse which is more difficult than he first thought. He _was_ in the middle of being chased when he found it, so he didn't really pay attention to his surroundings. All he knows is that it's close to a large playground, surrounded by other large buildings similar to it.

It doesn't deter Ichigo in the least for searching it, though. He makes sure to stay away from the playground in case he runs into anyone unpleasant, and manages to at least find the district where he remembers the warehouse to be. The shadows cast by the towering constructions of steel and stone make the temperature drop a few degrees, and he shivers lightly as he wanders into an empty street with no clear distinction between the road and the sidewalk.

Now where is that warehouse? Ichigo cranes his neck to look at all the buildings he passes, eyes searching for anything he might recognize. It all looks the same to him; dull colors, old and abandoned-looking. How is he ever going to find Grimmjow now?

He comes to a stop at the corner of the street after walking for ten minutes and ending up nowhere. Of course he isn't about to give up, but he stops briefly anyway. At this rate he'll just get lost. He needs a better way to go about it.

An innocent little thought occurs to him, and, being the uninhibited child he is, he doesn't think twice about executing it. So, sucking deeply, pulling up his hands to frame around his mouth, with all the voice he has, he shouts.

"GRIMMJOW!"

The yell ricochets against the walls of the buildings surrounding him, the sound almost staggeringly loud. There's no one else in the street, but even if they were, Ichigo wouldn't have paid them any mind.

Seconds pass, and nothing happens. Starting to resume his walk, he takes another breath, and is about to shout for a second time when something hard hits the back of his head and he ends up face-first on the ground with a startled yelp.

"I heard you the first time, shitty brat," a gruff voice snaps at him as he pulls himself up to his knees, rubbing his nose with teary eyes from the sudden pain and a deep scowl on his face. "Why are you here?"

Looking over his shoulder, Ichigo blinks up at the blue-haired spirit before two completely opposite reactions follow back to back.

First, an excited, "Grimmjow!" as he scrambles up to his feet.

Then, an attempted kick at the man's shins while yelling, "That hurt, you jerk!" It feels like he's kicking a wall when his foot connects with Grimmjow's leg, who glares down at him, unimpressed.

"Answer my question."

Ichigo lets out an agitated huff, crossing his arms as he tries not to show his contentment at meeting the spirit again. "I got bored so I thought I might as well come see what you're up to."

Grimmjow turns his head away for a moment, scoffing quietly to himself, just soft enough for Ichigo to miss the words, but he bets they weren't anything positive.

"So, um," Ichigo starts as he resumes talking, trying to not let the spirit's grumpy mood get to him, "what are you up to?"

"Humoring little shits like you, apparently."

"Well, if you hate me that much, why are you even bothering?" Ichigo grumbles, feeling his own mood souring and plummeting further and further.

Grimmjow puts his hands in his pockets, long fingers disappearing inside the white hakama as he looks back to Ichigo, expression losing some of its irritation. "You got a surprising amount of reiatsu for a kid—no, even by adult human standards it's way above average. "

"Huh?" Ichigo cocks his head to the side, puzzlement written all over his face. "Reiatsu?"

"It's the reason you can see me." Grimmjow pauses, seeming to think on something, before appearing to lose interest. "You got what you came for, now get lost."

Ichigo's mouth opens and closes slowly like a gaping fish before his own indignation sets in—first at being dismissed like some sort of dog, and then at the condescending look in the spirit's eyes. Sure, he's a kid, but that doesn't mean he can just be bossed around like this!

Setting the proverbial foot down, he meets Grimmjow's gaze head on with a glower of his own. The shocking blue of his irises drills into Ichigo's honey brown, and gradually, the air starts getting thicker and heavier.

It's an almost curious, gentle prodding at first, but the force of it quickly increases. He feels it press down on him, like a light push from above, the force gradually increasing, but Ichigo neither breaks eye-contact nor lets his shaking knees buckle, fists balled and brows furrowed in determination even as it gets more difficult to breathe.

Sweat starts forming on his skin and his lungs have already stopped functioning for a few seconds when Grimmjow's cold face contorts into an amused smirk and the pressure instantly disappears. Ichigo gasps, feeling disoriented and shaking his head wildly in an attempt to get a grip on himself.

"Well, ain't that something."

Ichigo figures the remark is more of a personal aside than meant for him to respond to, but it's clear that he passed whatever test Grimmjow conducted just now and so, feeling emboldened, he restarts the conversation.

"So, do I still have to leave?" he demands to know, still catching his breath and wiping the sweat-drops from his forehead. When Grimmjow doesn't reply immediately, seeming to prefer observing him, Ichigo continues. "It's not like you have anyone else to talk to."

"Who says I gotta talk to anyone? I'm fine on my own."

"But you have to be bored," Ichigo points out. "You _look _like you're bored most of the time, anyway."

"So?"

"So... so I could make you... um... not bored?" Grimmjow's lips twist in a sneer, but before the no doubt cruel jab can pass them, Ichigo continues. "You've got nothing to lose, right?"

The spirit seems to consider this for a moment, and after a nearly tense moment of silence, he relents, although he seems to regret it immediately after the words leave him.

"Alright, kid. What do you do for fun around here?"

* * *

The flat, smooth little stone skids over the surface of the water, tapping on it a total of three times before it plunges into the river. Ichigo frowns, unsatisfied, and looks around the ground for more stones.

He briefly glances over his shoulder as he picks a fitting one up, the spirit sitting on the grass watching him with half-lidded eyes, a slight crease between his brows. Grimmjow hasn't said a word ever since Ichigo guided him here, avoiding crowded streets and walking with the man in silence. It is a bit unnerving.

Turning back to the still river, Ichigo throws the rock, watching it skip only two times. Puffing his cheeks with a scowl, he reaches down for another stone, when something whizzes right by him so fast he barely has time to look before he hears several splashes. One, two, three—Ichigo spins around and looks at the river, catching a glimpse of the splashing stone skidding over the water—seven, eight, nine, and it hits the other side.

"Woah, how did you—"

"This is boring." Grimmjow interrupts him, tone drawn out in a lethargic manner as he looks away, as if searching for something entertaining in his immediate surroundings. "You're wasting my time, brat."

Incensed by the rude statement, Ichigo picks up another stone, and throws out of frustration.

It skips over the water six times, almost reaching the other shore before it falls into the depths.

"Quick learner, eh?"

Ichigo's brief moment of pride at this improvement is ruined by the derision, and giving up on trying to play any sort of game with the man as he walks away from the river bank and sits himself down next to Grimmjow, albeit with some distance between them. Even as he is pretty certain the spirit won't hurt him, he's still uneasy with approaching him carelessly.

"You're no fun," he complains, and Grimmjow's lips curl back to reveal sharp teeth as he continues his mocking in response.

"Your idea of fun is a shitty one."

"Oh yeah?" It's getting offensive at this point. "What do _you _do for fun? Hang around in empty buildings all day?"

"When I wanna have fun, I kick someone's ass."

Fighting? Ichigo considers this, finding it does fit the guy, but it doesn't seem to be something they have in common. Ichigo doesn't fight for fun; he does it out of necessity. He has to be able to defend himself from the bullies, after all. _  
_

"Kinda sounds like them, actually," Ichigo mutters to himself, but apparently Grimmjow has impeccable hearing because he gives him an expectant look. "Just, uh, some kids in my neighborhood. They like to fight too."

"You don't?" A shake of the head. "Tch, weakling."

"I'm not weak!"

Grimmjow snorts. "Sure you ain't. Lemme guess, those kids tend to gang up on you and you fight 'cause you have to."

The shock in Ichigo's expression gives him away before he can blurt out the staunch denial that forms in his head, and his cheeks burn red at being seen through so easily. Grimmjow is far more observant than he expected.

"So what if I do?" he grumbles, starting to pluck the grass from the ground, avoiding eye-contact.

"It's pathetic," Grimmjow replies brusquely. "If they're your enemies, then destroy them. Crush them until they can't lift a single finger against you ever again."

This isn't even an option he ever considered, so he isn't sure how to respond to him. Before he can even think on what Grimmjow has said, something else stands out to him. "You think so?"

Blue eyes slide from the river over to Ichigo's face. Grimmjow holds his uncertain gaze for all of two seconds before his own moves away once more.

"I don't know about crushing anyone," Ichigo continues hesitantly, "but it would be nice if they stopped bothering me." He looks at the plucked blades of grass gathered in his palm and blows them off his hand when another curiosity arises. "That wound, you got it from a fight, right?"

Grimmjow glances down at what Ichigo's eyes are now glued onto—the scar on his waist, from the injury he had yesterday.

"Did you win that fight?" Ichigo asks, wiping some grass off his pants. Grimmjow's eyes narrow, and he takes it as a no. "Who did you fight?"

"A lapdog who thinks too highly of himself," Grimmjow snarls, the memory alone seeming to anger him, his jaw clenching briefly. The movement pulls Ichigo's attention to the bone-mask covering one side of the lower half of his face—he'd never gotten a straight answer about that now he thinks about it, nor about the large hole in the man's abdomen.

"What was his name?" he asks instead, shaking the thought off and returning to the topic at hand.

"Ulquiorra Cifer." The word is spit out as if it is acid on the tongue, accompanied by a growling baritone that makes the hairs on the back of Ichigo's neck stand on end.

He swallows thickly, trying to stand strong in the face of the sheer murderous intent radiating from his newly made friend, and though it isn't aimed at him, had he not been sitting his knees would've been shaking.

"I guess you guys didn't like each other, huh?" Ichigo says nervously, pulling up his legs a bit, subconsciously arranging a defensive position for himself. As good-natured as he is and as much as he wants to think the best of people, there is no doubt that getting on Grimmjow's bad side would mean certain death.

"That's putting it lightly."

"You fought him on the other side, right?" Ichigo decides to focus their conversation on something else. "What's it like?"

Grimmjow is silent for a moment, and lifts his head, looking up to the sky, tense shoulders relaxing slightly. "It's always night over there," he starts slowly, the force of his voice dimmed to a rougher base. "The sun here is fucking blinding."

"Wait, there's no sun where you're from?" Ichigo can't imagine a life without the sun. If it's constantly night, then how do you keep track of time?

It takes a bit more prodding with questions that seem to annoy Grimmjow somewhat, but he always answers eventually. Ichigo takes in the descriptions of endless hills of sand in a monochromatic world, trying to imagine a crescent moon looming over everyone else. It sounds nothing like any kind of afterlife he imagined for himself.

Grimmjow doesn't seem to like the place either, but even as he draws comparisons to earth, he seems to hate the latter more. He finds it noisy and boring, and despises its inhabitants. At least in Hueco Mundo (that's what it's called, apparently) the strong thrive while the weak are exterminated, or so that's what he tells Ichigo.

It is somewhat of a shocking revelation for an eight year old, who ends up with the nightmarish image of a purgatory-like place, and suddenly it's not that strange how aggressive and powerful Grimmjow is. The thought frightens Ichigo quite a bit.

What if he ends up there, when he dies?

Grimmjow notices his sudden silence, eyebrows arching slightly.

"You scared, kid?" There is no berating tinge to his words now, no arrogance in his expression or irritation or impatience. Ichigo wants to say that he isn't scared, but the thoughts keep pouring out, and he can't even put up a brave front.

What if Hueco Mundo is where his parents went to after their deaths?

"Dumbass," Grimmjow huffs. "You just got outta your diapers; you shouldn't be shitting yourself at some distant future possibility."

_You're not going to die, so don't worry._

It eases his disquieted heart a bit, and he exhales a shaky breath, looking up Grimmjow with a half-hearted smile in gratitude. "Yeah, I guess so."

There are no more words exchanged between them after that. The quiet is more comfortable, and for once, Ichigo doesn't have anything else to ask him.

He lies on his back in the grass, looking up at the unclouded sky and marveling at how much of the vast color reminds him of the man sitting next to him. A man with seemingly no regard for others, someone with an undoubtedly violent and predatory side who cares little for the ones around him, arrogant and temperamental, and yet, his presence is comforting, if only because it means Ichigo doesn't have to be alone anymore.

Moreover, call it instinct, but Ichigo knows there has to be more to Grimmjow than what he lets show, more than the arrogance and aggression he puts on display. Vast, and blue.

Yes, underneath a sky like this, there's no need for worry.

* * *

Ichigo visits him every morning, and stays with him until noon, after which Grimmjow retreats to the warehouse. Every day is a new day filled with discoveries. Some are more revealing than others, like what Grimmjow's other former comrades are like, and some are trivial things, like how Grimmjow hates the color yellow. Ichigo latches on to whatever Grimmjow is willing to give him, the mystery around it too tempting to leave alone.

What's more is that he simply likes Grimmjow, and being around him is fun in its own way. Unlike most adults, he's incredibly straightforward and honest, and while he does treat Ichigo like a child or a nuisance half the time, the fact that he has tolerated him hanging around so far can only be a good sign, right?

That's what Ichigo hopes, anyway.

With this new friend to interact with, the evenings go by tortuously slow and the mornings always fly by. Before he knows it, he's nearing the end of the holidays, and by then the mark of Grimmjow's wound should have started to fade into scar tissue, but it hasn't. In fact, it still looks like it might rip open at any second, having been healed only superficially. Grimmjow tells him offhandedly that it's because of lingering reiatsu within the wound, and Ichigo doesn't understand a lick of how that works, but he takes Grimmjow's word for it.

It also seems to still cause him some pain. When he thinks Ichigo isn't looking, and they're walking through the streets, he flinches sometimes when he walks too fast or doesn't land his step quite right. It's obvious that Grimmjow needs stitches, and Ichigo suggests as much to him once, but he brushes it off, prideful as he is.

"But if you don't, it might open up again," Ichigo says on a Friday afternoon, walking back towards his house with Grimmjow beside him, ignoring the looks he gets from other people as to them it looks as if he's talking to air.

"I don't need it," Grimmjow snaps impatiently, and that's the end of that. Ichigo pouts, glaring at him for a moment before giving up. Determined to become a doctor later, he's already sucking up as much information on the subject as he can, and a wound like that really needs a stitch, but Grimmjow isn't going to budge.

Ichigo is worried about it. He really is. In this short period of time to he has attached himself to Grimmjow like a moth drawn to flame, and as such, his innate protective streak is starting to kick in, even though Grimmjow is more capable of looking after himself than Ichigo is.

"Fine! I'll try not to say _I told you so_ when it rips open," Ichigo replies stubbornly, scrunching up his nose in disgust at the mere thought of it.

Grimmjow flicks his forehead and Ichigo yelps at the sudden pain—this also has become somewhat of a routine. Whenever Ichigo becomes too snarky for Grimmjow's taste, the man either flicks his forehead with his index finger or gives him a slap upside the head if he's _really _out of line.

It's really annoying, but it doesn't actually hurt any more than a pinch in his arm would, so Ichigo doesn't mind. It's actually nice to think they already have some sort of habit between them now. Grimmjow is becoming more and more like a brother-type figure as he spends time with him, and it makes his life that much brighter.

"Better hurry on home, kid," Grimmjow says, stopping at the corner of the street, probably planning to return to the warehouse. Ichigo is still rubbing the red spot on his forehead as he sighs.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll—"

Movement distracts him, the sound of familiar voices cutting through his thoughts.

A group of boys have just rounded the corner on the other end of the street. They are none other than Ichigo's worst tormentors, and the leader spots him immediately, dark eyes flashing with glee at the sight of him.

"Oi, Kurosaki!" the blond boy jeers, increasing his pace, his followers right behind him. Kazuo is two years older than him and bigger than him, and nothing seems to please him more than turning Ichigo's life into a living hell whenever he has the opportunity. "'S been a while, yeah?"

Ichigo's entire body is rigid for a moment before he takes a step back, body shifting into a defensive stance, remembering the old routine. He makes a headcount—six of them. That's too many. He can take on four at most, but with six he's in serious trouble.

"Heh, he looks like he's 'bout to pee his pants!" one of the boys says, Kazuo laughing loudly at the insult as Ichigo slowly inches back. The motions don't go unnoticed.

"Where ya headin', Kurosaki? We just wanna play!" Kazuo calls out with a grin, approaching closer fast. "Come play with us!"

_'Go die, jerk,' _Ichigo thinks with a scowl, and takes another step back, taking a deep breath and preparing to bolt.

That is until he catches Grimmjow's gaze, cool and unwavering as it is fixed on him, nailing him to the ground just like that.

"You gonna run?" is all he asks, and it's enough for Ichigo to switch gears instantly.

He can't run, not in front of Grimmjow. It would be more humiliating than fighting and getting his ass kicked—at least the effort might be somewhat redeemable in Grimmjow's eyes, but turning his back and high-tailing it out of there is something he absolutely cannot do in front of Grimmjow. He wants to impress him, and avoiding a fight isn't gonna cut it.

"No way," Ichigo replies cockily as he steels his resolve, looking back at the gang of boys.

"Eh? When did you grow a pair, Kurosaki?" Kazuo mocks as Ichigo starts walking towards them, back straight and chin up, heart going wild inside his ribcage.

This is stupid.

He's going to get his ass kicked.

But Grimmjow is watching.

"Around the same time you lost yours." Ichigo retorts, looking smug as Kazuo grits his teeth and attempts to glare a hole through his head.

"You're gonna pay for that!" he snaps, the other boys instantly surrounding him.

And as expected, the fight doesn't start in his favor.

It's mostly just a mess of limbs and shouts. You can't expect much else from kids, and Ichigo is the only one who moves like he had training, his opponents throwing uncontrolled and reckless punches and kicks, even accidentally hitting each other a few times. Still, their ferocity is overpowering.

Someone pulls at his shirt, someone else scratches at his arm, knuckles hit his jaw and a foot rams against his upper leg. The assault is disorienting; he doesn't know how to defend from the barrage, ache shooting through his body from every hit. He really should've run. He's gonna end up black and blue and red by the time this is over. This was the stupidest idea he ever—

"You gonna lose against these brats?" The spirits voice cuts through the chaos like the edge of a blade, a semblance of clarity that offers him something to hold onto. "Guess I overestimated you. They're your enemies, aren't they?"

_Crush them._

Ichigo, both arms shielding his face, tastes the iron of blood in his mouth, and gathers whatever nerve he has left as Kazuo hits him in the stomach, nearly making him keel over.

If defense doesn't work, then wild punches it is.

And the aftermath is glorious.

Ichigo bursts out from his defensive position with a battle cry and comes out swinging like a crazy person. They _are _his enemies, and this time, self-defense won't save him. Grimmjow is right. If he wants this to stop, he needs to beat them down until they're too weak to stand up again.

It's definitely a sort of desperation that drives him to it, mixed with pure fury—not even necessarily at his bullies, but at everything that has gone wrong for him over the last few years. His anger at having such terrible parents, his sorrow at never knowing what a real family feels like, his fear that the closest friend he's made could disappear to the other side at any day; it's all in his fists, and he throws it out.

For a moment, it's almost like a daze, and when he comes to, six boys are lying on the ground and he has blood on his knuckles. Blinking slowly, he looks at the injured, some groaning, some crying, some trying to get up—one of them succeeds, and the look of pure terror on the kid's face as he stares at Ichigo isn't something he'll ever forget.

He gets a small kick out of watching the boy run away, but a much larger part of himself is terrified too.

He never knew he was capable of this.

And then he feels _good _about it. He feels good about watching his enemies writhe on the ground from their injuries, and he tries to replay the fight in his head, tries to recapture the feel of pure adrenaline. There was something... something fun about it. For the first time, he thinks he might understand why Grimmjow's favorite past-time is fighting.

"Took you long enough," said man drawls, and Ichigo stares up at him, searching his indifferent expression. His facial features seem lighter than usual. A bit amused, maybe? There's a pause there as Grimmjow stares right back at him, and then, a toothy grin spreads out on his face. "Keep at it, kid. You might make a worthy opponent one day."

Ichigo's lips part but nothing comes out, and with a last look at the bullies spread out over the pavement, Grimmjow vanishes in thin air with a short, booming noise. Ichigo frowns slightly, and then turns to look at his own reflection in a window.

His lip is bleeding, and he has a black eye, and there's definitely some bruises forming there, but he came out of it better than he anticipated.

Kazuo groans, sitting up slowly, holding his nose, blood dripping down over his mouth and chin onto his shirt.

Ichigo moves, and stands in front of him, looking down with a deep scowl. Kazuo winces at the mere sight of him.

"Hey, Ichigo, you know we were just messing around, right? _Right_? It was all just fun and games!"

Self-defense really is pointless. Straight up kicking your opponent's ass is way more effective.

"If you don't start leaving me alone," Ichigo replies fiercely, brown eyes burning with the promise of violence, "then next time, _I'll crush you_. Got it?"

Kazuo nods profusely, face pale.

With that taken care of, Ichigo puts his hands in his pockets with a grin, and walks past the other boy, stepping over someone else and walking off, imitating the way Grimmjow does it—confident and utterly dominating.

This is the part where, unbeknownst to the man himself, Grimmjow becomes more than a new friend.


	3. OLDER BROTHER

**8/11/14 Note: **So I'll usually update on Sundays, sometimes once a week, sometimes once every two weeks depending on my schedule from now on, so keep that in mind-and please keep the reviews coming! It's really my only reward for writing this, so it's pretty important in continuing this story. Now please enjoy this next chapter!

* * *

**III: OLDER BROTHER**

He wakes up early two days after _the incident_, earlier than usual. It's a Monday, thankfully—Ichigo is the sort of kid who's a lot more eager to go to school than most, mainly because either staying at home or playing outside usually doesn't end well.

Washing up and brushing his teeth, he gets dressed in his school uniform and goes downstairs with his schoolbag clutched in his right hand. Lingering near the bottom of the stairs, the door to the dining room is wide open and he can see both his adoptive parents already seated, waiting for him.

Taking a deep breath and putting his schoolbag aside against the wall, he walks towards his seat in between his parents who are sitting on either end of the long, ebony table.

"Good morning," he mutters quietly, looking down at the food and not meeting anyone's gaze.

"You're going to be late," Mrs. Fukui remarks stiffly, her black hair pulled up in a tight knot as it usually is, the purple lipstick she's wearing contrasting against her pale skin. "Hurry up and eat."

Ichigo doesn't reply and instead picks up his chopsticks, concentrating on the food. Mr. Fukui is quiet as usual. He's a very strict but detached parent, even more so than his wife, being a clean-shaven, suit-wearing CEO of some sort of electronics company. His dark brown hair is always slicked back neatly, face devoid of any emotion, permanent dark circles under his eyes. He seldom even talks to Ichigo if he can help it; any questions he ever asks are always in regards to his schoolwork.

Breakfast passes in silence. No one bids him a good day at school as he stands up and leaves, putting his shoes on, grabbing his bag and slamming the door shut behind him.

Every day is the same thing. If he ran away neither of them would care. If he dropped dead they'd probably celebrate. Why they adopted him in the first place is beyond him; he'd be better off living with a poor family who loved him instead of these wealthy machines pretending to be human beings. They refused to even change his surname to their own. What does that say about how they see him as a son?

Trudging towards school, he tries cheering himself up as he reminds himself he'll have after-school karate lessons, and he can visit Grimmjow again in the warehouse.

While Ichigo gets along with most of his peers, he doesn't really _have _friends, aside from Tatsuki. She lives on the other side of town, though, so it's hard to hang out after school. Not to mention that Tatsuki has been spending more time with that orange-haired girl, uh… Inui? Is that her name? Iguchi? Ichimura? Something like that, anyway.

When he arrives at school he's perfectly on time unlike what Mrs. Fukui claimed. He's not exactly looking forward to the lessons, but if nothing else, he has to do well in his studies. He wants to grow up to be a doctor like his real dad was, and that means that he has to work really hard. Neither of his adoptive parents were impressed when he told them of his dream—he's going to prove them wrong.

"Yo, Ichigo!" Tatsuki greets him from her seat as he walks towards his own after arriving in his classroom.

"Hey, Tatsuki," he replies, putting his schoolbag down on his desk and sitting on his chair. The teacher hasn't come in yet, and his classmates are spread in small groups around the room, talking loudly to their friends.

"How was your weekend?"

Ichigo shrugs. "Alright."

Tatsuki frowns slightly at his glum tone as she turns around, the two of them being seated in the same row though there is an empty desk between them at the moment. "Your parents again, huh?"

"Nothing happened," Ichigo mumbles, taking his homework out of his bag and avoiding her look.

"Ya know, Orihime and I are going to get some ice cream after karate practice. You wanna come with?" she offers, and he appreciates her attempt at being friendly, but he knows he has to decline.

"Sorry, I got somewhere else to be after practice," he says with a shake of his head, barely suppressing his grin. Tatsuki raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth to say something, when another student walking in pulls her attention. It's In… Iwa… Ino… oh, whatever. It's Orihime.

She greets Tatsuki cheerfully, casting a shy glance towards Ichigo as she sits down in the row next to theirs and the two of them start chatting. Ichigo sighs and turns his gaze out the window, wondering what Grimmjow is up to.

* * *

He worked much harder during practice than usual, his instructor praising him for his good form. Even Tatsuki was surprised when he managed to get another kid down on his back during a brief sparring session. Now more than ever, Ichigo wants to become stronger. Initially karate had been just a means for him to defend himself in case it came down to a fight—while he often walks away with bruises, he always makes sure his bullies walk away with a few of their own.

But after what Grimmjow said the first day they met, about fighting to win and not just to survive, after his victory over his tormentors last Friday, impressionable as he still is at this young age Ichigo has decided to follow his advice. From now on he's not just going to train to defend himself, and yeah, he doesn't really _have _a reason to fight because he has nothing or no one to protect, but winning for once, to be the one to come out on top… it's too alluring a thrill to ignore. It felt too good, too empowering.

With this kind of mind-set, Ichigo discovers that fighting (even if it is just practice) is a lot more fun when you're striving for victory. Maybe his reason to fight can be just that simple, fighting to win. He discovers that when it comes down to it, he has quite the competitive streak.

About fifteen minutes after the end of practice he walks past all the kids whose parents are waiting for them to take them home. No one is waiting for him. It doesn't bother him anymore because he's long given up hope of either of his adoptive parents showing interest in his after-school activities; they take it for granted. Of course he's doing karate—they'd be dismayed if he didn't, therefore his effort deserves no praise. It's only natural.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he heads towards the warehouse, shoulders tense in case he runs into anyone unpleasant. It's unlikely he'll see any of the neighborhood kids since they stick to their own block, and after their humiliating defeat at his hands he doubts they'll go after him again, but you never know.

It's tiring to constantly watch your back like you might get jumped at any second. Ichigo bets Grimmjow doesn't have this problem. The spirit is incredibly strong; he'd never have to fear anyone else.

He comes to a stop on the corner of a street, salary-men and people in fancy suits passing him and ignoring him. The abandoned warehouse is close to the business center of Karakura Town that's lined with banks and large companies, so he supposes anyone he'd run into here would be an adult or whatever.

He remembers a detail of when they met yesterday—Grimmjow had wanted more water. He seems to constantly need more of it; Ichigo has spent nearly all of his pocket money on buying him bottles of liquid. Keeping that in mind, he spends what little he has left in his wallet on three more water bottles, stuffing them in his bag and continuing on the road.

Exploring the mazes of alleyways, he finally finds the warehouse, the old building looking like it's about to crumble into ruins from the outside now he takes a good look at it. He spots a group of teenagers smoking nearby, hanging around with bottles in their hands, and something that looks like a cigarette but smells funny. He passes them quietly.

"Oi, little guy, ain't ya too young to be hanging around these parts?" one of them yells after him, the others snickering. Ichigo increases his pace as he ignores them, walking faster and crossing the street.

Slipping into the dead-end alley, he pulls open the old, graffiti-clad door and gets inside. He doesn't relax until he arrives at the stairs and feels the heavy sheet of Grimmjow's aura radiating throughout the building, encompassing it like a blanket.

Practically running up to the fourth floor, he's out of breath by the time he ends up in the dusty, shadow-covered corridor. He knows Grimmjow is in one of the rooms, and hurries to check each and every one, until he finds the man in the second one on the right this time.

He's sitting on the windowsill, one leg stretched out over it and the other hanging outside. The wound underneath his ribs still isn't entirely healed, and several cuts are still marring his arms, but the injuries are now turning faint and faded. There's no sunlight on this side of the building, though his eyes still shine a vivid blue as they shift to look at him, boring right through him.

It's crazy to feel so at ease with a spirit that's clearly dangerous and radiates the aura of a predator, but Ichigo can't help but grin at the sight of him.

"What's up, old man?" he greets the spirit, dropping his bag aside and taking a few steps towards him. Grimmjow doesn't move, and instead keeps watching him intently. At his silence, Ichigo starts getting a little nervous. "So, um, your wound looks better."

"Don't you have a family to go home to, brat?"

The question throws him off, his smile instantly fading from his features. The truth is that he doesn't, not really, but it feels too painful to acknowledge. If his parents hadn't died, then maybe things would be better. There'd be his mom to pick him up from karate practice, and his dad waiting at home for him after a long day of work at the hospital. They'd have dinner and breakfast as a family, and Ichigo could tell them about his day, and they'd encourage him in his studies and hobbies, and…

"I beat a kid at practice today." Ichigo says instead, sitting down on the cold, dirty floor, not caring about his pants being covered in dust. "I got him on his back within a minute."

Grimmjow observes him a moment longer, before shifting his head to look outside. "Keep it up."

Is that praise? Ichigo can't exactly tell, but he supposes this is the closest he'll get to with Grimmjow, and he perks up again, a warm feeling filling his chest. "Yeah! I'll get much stronger than this, you'll see!"

Grimmjow grunts in acknowledgement but otherwise seems to prefer watching out the window, not bothering to keep a conversation going.

"Hey, Grimmjow, what do you do all day?" Ichigo questions, remembering his earlier thoughts during his classes. He can't imagine hanging around in a warehouse is an entertaining way to spend your time.

"I wait for you to grace me with your presence," Grimmjow sneers sarcastically.

"Ha! If you were lonely you could've just said so," Ichigo retorts with a smirk, his remark leading him to another thought. "Do you have any family?"

"No."

"And friends? Like, real friends. Not just comrades or whatever."

Grimmjow swings his legs to the inside, leaning his elbows on his arms as he stares down at Ichigo with a slight scowl. "I had followers."

The response puzzles him. "What kinda followers?"

"We fought together."

"What happened to them?"

A beat. "I left them behind."

"Why?"

"You're noisy. Shut up."

Ichigo crosses his arms, frowning deeply. "Why did they follow you?"

At this, he receives a slight smirk, somewhat cocky. "'Cause I am the king."

That sounds highly unlikely. He doesn't look like a king.

"King of what? If you're a king, where's your crown? Don't kings have those?"

"You're getting on my nerves, brat." Grimmjow growls, and Ichigo flinches at the sharp response, realizing he's close to crossing the line. He falls into silence, staring at the ground in front of him as he tries imagining Grimmjow as a king.

Maybe it's not that far-fetched, but he doesn't really look like royalty. He can imagine Grimmjow sitting on a throne, but not with a crown. It would get in the way of his hair.

"How do you become a king?" Ichigo asks carefully, peeking up at the man who's been gazing down at him all this time.

"By being the strongest." That, at least, Ichigo can believe. With just his energy alone Grimmjow can chase away other people, so Ichigo can't imagine how strong he would be if he actually fought.

He looks at his bag, and remembers the items he's bought earlier, opening it and pulling out a water bottle. Looking up to Grimmjow, he holds it out to him. "Here, you asked for another one again yesterday, right?"

Grimmjow raises his eyebrows slightly, but reaches out nonetheless, wrapping long fingers around the top of the water bottle. His hands are much bigger than Ichigo's. They look stronger, too.

He watches Grimmjow pull the cap off and take a few big gulps of it, throwing the rest of it on his face. For the first time since Ichigo has met him, he looks a bit tired.

"Hey, Grimmjow," Ichigo starts again, and Grimmjow glances at him as a way to tell him he's listening, "if you're a king, do you think I'd make a good knight?"

The man looks a bit taken aback by the sudden and somewhat odd question, the small furrow between his brows giving his bemusement away before he crushes the bottle and throws it out the window. "You ask too many questions."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"If you wanna be a knight, you gotta follow orders." Grimmjow replies languidly, brushing his hand through a few wet locks of hair and combing it back. "But mindlessly listening to whatever your boss says ain't good either. You have to have a mind of your own as well."

Ichigo thinks about this for a while, supposing the man has a point. "So, just a few questions?"

"You wanna be a knight, kid?" Grimmjow looks amused, as if the mere thought is ridiculous. Ichigo feels a bit insulted.

"Knights are heroic, you know! They protect their country, and loved ones, and they're noble and kind and honorable, and everyone looks up to them, and… and…" A blush starts creeping up on his face, and he looks away with a pout. "So what?"

Grimmjow shakes his head. "Think about getting stronger first. Then you can worry about becoming a knight." The mocking tone of his voice is unmistakable, and it agitates Ichigo, who always means what he says and is stubborn and almost single-minded about this goals. It's not like he literally wants to be a knight because they don't exist anymore, but the idea behind it is what he aims for.

"I will! I'll get stronger, I'll get even stronger than you!" Ichigo states, scowling deeply.

Grimmjow regards him with mild interest now, much different than the look he gave him before—the one that made Ichigo feel as if he were an ant about the be trampled underneath his boot. "You got guts, kid, I'll give you that."

At the unexpected compliment, Ichigo relaxes again, grinning widely. He can't remember ever being this straightforward with anyone else; usually he's pretty reticent, even with Tatsuki at times. It's different with Grimmjow, since he's someone Ichigo genuinely wants to impress.

"Do you wanna go outside?" he suggests energetically, not all that interested in hanging around in the warehouse for the next few hours.

"No." Grimmjow's rejection is instant.

"Why not?" He receives no reply and sighs deeply. "But it's no fun in here."

"It's safer around this time of day."

Ichigo blinks in surprise, not understanding what danger there could possibly be outside of the warehouse late noon. Grimmjow turns his back on him, swinging his legs over the windowsill to the outside this time. It's then that Ichigo notices something on the man's lower back—it's a tattoo of some sort, a roughly drawn '6'. Now he thinks about it, this is the first time Grimmjow has shown him his back. Usually he's always facing Ichigo in some way.

Without thinking, he stands up and reaches out to touch it with his fingertips, noticing that the man's skin feels oddly warm. He was half expecting for his hand to slip right through him as often happens with other ghosts, but it's solid. Maybe he really isn't a spirit? Grimmjow did mention that he was an Arrancar, the first time they met, but Ichigo has yet to figure out what that means.

Grimmjow doesn't stir as Ichigo prods at the tattoo, merely glancing at him over his shoulder with a warning glare as if a cat irritated at being petted, making Ichigo quickly pull his hand back, blushing in embarrassment.

"Why do you have a six on your back?" he asks shyly, both hands on his back as if he'd just been caught stealing out of the cookie jar.

"Rank," Grimmjow replies gruffly. "Mine was Sexta—sixth in Spanish, though fuck only knows why they didn't stick to Japanese."

"Oh." Does that mean there were five other guys higher ranked than him? But he thought Grimmjow was a king? Ichigo wants to ask about it, but knights aren't supposed to ask too many questions, and he doesn't think the man would appreciate it. "So you aren't six… uh, Sek-sta anymore?"

"No."

"Hmm…" Ichigo looks up at the back of Grimmjow's head, the man's eyes now firmly fixed on the cityscape. Ichigo feels a bit left out, so he puts his hands on the small, empty space next to Grimmjow on the windowsill and pulls himself up. He swings his legs over the edge as well, and glances down—a mistake. The height of their position briefly makes him dizzy, the ground so far below, and he gasps, hands reaching out for something to hold, finding it in Grimmjow's jacket.

Grimmjow looks down at him with a grown, but doesn't brush his hands off. His glare is enough for Ichigo to quickly pull his hands back, muttering an apology.

Brown eyes look up, and he stares out over the city, the view breath-taking. The sun is setting on the other side of the building, but from this side they can see the light reflecting off the windows of cars, buildings and the steel of lampposts. Karakura Town typically has an orange glow at this time of day, but Ichigo has never seen it from up this high before.

He's so intent on staring out over the city that he doesn't realize he's leaning too far out until it's too late and he almost loses his balance, yelping as he feels himself slipping off the edge.

Fingers grasp the back of his shirt, and yank him back onto the windowsill.

"Idiot," Grimmjow grumbles next to him, not looking at him. Even if he acts like Ichigo's presence is irritating, actions like these only make Ichigo grow fonder of him, and even sitting on the edge of a window from the fourth floor, he feels safe with Grimmjow next to him.

They don't talk for a long while, and Ichigo finds he doesn't mind. He's still burning to ask Grimmjow more questions, but the moment is peaceful, and he doesn't want to break it. His feet swinging back and forth, he quickly grows used to the height and watches people down below, some cars passing by, heading back home. They look so much smaller from up where they are.

It's a nice change of pace, Ichigo thinks. Maybe sometimes you don't need words; just sitting together with someone like this feels plenty comfortable.

He glances at Grimmjow's profile, taking note of his sharp features and his half-lidded eyes, pondering what he's is thinking of. He also wonders why a king would leave his kingdom behind, and what he meant by it being 'safer' up here, but those are questions he's not sure he'll ever work up the courage to ask.

After a few minutes, Ichigo starts growing a bit sleepy, his thoughts wandering off as he's lulled into a sense of serenity. Leaning his head to the side, he watches the sky steadily grow darker, the reds and oranges fading out into a darker blue creeping in from the horizon.

"I don't really have a family," he mutters, Grimmjow's question earlier coming to mind. He might as well answer it. He doesn't think the spirit will judge him for it, and maybe, now he can get it all off his chest.

Grimmjow is silent, but Ichigo feels like he's listening, so he continues.

"My real parents died when I was three, so I don't remember much about them. I got adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Fukui when I was four, but they're not really my parents.

"Sometimes they'll scold me or punish me when I do badly at school or break a rule, but I don't think they care about me much. I have one friend, her name is Tatsuki. She's really strong, and great at karate. I wanna beat her some day.

"And when I grow up, I wanna be a doctor, like my dad was. I don't know much about him, but I have some pictures of him and mom. Mrs. Fukui told me they died in a car crash. If they hadn't died, maybe… um… anyway, I'm pretty much alone most of the time."

There's a long pause that stretches until it becomes uncomfortable and Ichigo wonders if he shouldn't have opened his mouth, until the silence finally breaks.

"Nothing wrong with being alone," Grimmjow replies quietly, eyes unmoving from the view in front of him. Ichigo peers up at him, chewing his lower lip and unable to relax now that he's shared so much.

"I guess not, but…" He tears his gaze away, looking down at his knees. Down below he can hear the group of teens he'd seen before chatting and laughing loudly with each other, carefree and cheerful.

"If you're lonely, then find others."

"You mean like, followers?" Ichigo asks, curiosity setting in again as he watches the still posture of the man next to him. "Is that why you got yours? Because you were lonely?"

Grimmjow's eyes narrow slightly, glancing at him from the corners. "They followed me on their own accord. I never asked them to."

"Still, must be lonely for you too, without them here," Ichigo persists.

Grimmjow snorts. "I don't need them here when I have you talking my ear off. You chat more than all of them combined."

"How many of them were there?"

"Five."

"Is that why you're Sek-sta?" Ichigo inquires curiously, and now Grimmjow turns his head to look at him. "'Cause six is the highest number, and the other five are below you?"

A slight smirk plays briefly off of Grimmjow's lips before it flits away again.

"Guess so."

He continues asking about these mysterious five followers, and for once Grimmjow doesn't seem to mind these questions. He's pretty forthcoming as he lists off the men's names, all of them sounding very foreign to Ichigo's ears. Then again, so is Grimmjow's own name.

He talks about them both individually and as a group, and Ichigo listens, asking questions whenever Grimmjow comes to a halt. They sound like any other group of friends. Some hotheaded, a few smart, mixed personalities that have at least one thing in common: they followed Grimmjow unquestioningly.

As much as Grimmjow doesn't seem to mind being alone, Ichigo senses a sort of frustration there. He bets that Grimmjow would be more at ease with them here—it's always nice to have someone watching out for you, or someone you can rely on. The conversation also gives him more insight into how Grimmjow's mind works, in part; he values his followers, his comrades. They've proven their worth to him as brothers-in-arms, and even if he doesn't call them friends, Ichigo still thinks they must have a relationship close to that.

"You gonna pass out on me, kid?" Grimmjow asks lazily during a lull in the conversation, and realization hits Ichigo like a brick in the face.

The sky has already transformed into its night colors, and he's way late for dinner. A sense of panic wraps its iron fingers around his throat. Mrs. Fukui isn't going to be happy.

Ichigo scrambles off the windowsill as if he's woken up from a trance, grabbing his bag. "I really need to get going!" He pulls out the two other water bottles he bought earlier, setting them down on the floor. "Two bottles for a ride back home," he says, Grimmjow's lips quirking in a sneer.

"Trying to buy me?"

"Favor for a favor," Ichigo retorts with a smirk, Grimmjow's amused look giving him a sense of accomplishment as it's usually pretty hard to get him to show any other side but the nonchalant attitude.

Grimmjow hops off the sill and lifts him up under his arm again, ignoring the wincing of his rough handling. "Last time, kid," he says, and jumps out the window.

* * *

"Useless," Mrs. Fukui snarls, nails digging into Ichigo's upper arm as she drags him up the stairs, ignoring his squirming. "Selfish, stupid boy. Do you know how long it took me to prepare dinner? All that food gone to waste!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Be quiet!" she snaps, pulling harder, her hand squeezing harshly into Ichigo's arm as she all but rips his bedroom door off its hinges, shoving him inside. He trips, landing on the floor and hitting his head on the edge of his bed. Not the corner, though, so it could've been worse. "No breakfast for you tomorrow morning, either, ungrateful mongrel!"

She slams the door shut, leaving Ichigo dizzied and pained, holding his head, hands shaking. The ache throbs through his skull and he starts feeling a bit nauseous, pulling his knees up against his chest, squeezing his eyes shut.

If he was stronger, she wouldn't be able to push him around like this. But he's weak. Pathetically weak. Forget about becoming a knight, at this rate he wouldn't even be a proper practice dummy.

Why do they hate him so much? Is there really just something wrong with him? He knows other children's parents don't treat them this way. He sees evidence of it every day, when they come to pick up their kids for school, when they show up to their school plays and soccer matches. Why is it different for him?

Slowly standing up and biting back tears, not wanting to give Mrs. Fukui that pleasure, he doesn't bother changing into his pajamas and instead slips into his bed, curling up under the covers. He keeps the lights on. The glow of it burning through his eyelids reminds him of the view he saw earlier that afternoon. If he tries hard enough, he can imagine himself there again, sitting on the windowsill next to Grimmjow—safe. Mrs. Fukui wouldn't be able to hurt him there.

If she thinks she can stop him from going back there, she's dead wrong. Ichigo's fists curl into his covers in determination. If he has to endure this abuse from his adoptive parents, fine. It's not as if they ever loved him in the first place.

Falling asleep, he makes up his mind, just like that. Grimmjow's presence offers safety and comfort, and he's not going to give that up for the world. The following days, even as he is deprived of regular meals, he keeps returning to the warehouse, even as the situation at home grows worse and worse.

He can endure it just fine. He's found a friend he doesn't have to share with anyone, someone unbelievably strong and upright in his own taciturn way. Maybe not even so much a friend; more like an older brother. He even starts talking less and less with Tatsuki, distancing himself more and more from his classmates in favor of interacting with Grimmjow.

Another week passes like this, the best week he's had in ages. Grimmjow doesn't show any particular signs about warming up to him, but he doesn't show any signs of minding his presence either. Most of the time, it's just Ichigo asking questions, Grimmjow answering them (sometimes a bit impatiently) and the two of them exchanging quips or insults until the week has passed.

More than ever, Ichigo wishes he was older. Grimmjow treats him like a kid, and he _is _a kid, but he wants to stand on equal ground with him, and right now, that's impossible.

"You shouldn't get too attached to me," Grimmjow says one day as he's sitting on the edge of the rooftop, the air chilly as it's a late afternoon at the end of November. Ichigo sits next to him, and his eyes go wide at the statement. "I won't be here forever."

"What? Where will you go?" Ichigo immediately asks, alarmed, his voice a pitch higher because of it. "You're not leaving that soon, are you?"

Grimmjow turns his body towards him at this, eyebrows furrowed deeply. "You're one messed up kid. Shouldn't you be hanging out with other boys your age? Or, hell, just people that are actually alive?"

Ichigo presses his lips together in a firm line, scowling up at the spirit. "Why should I? I like being friends with you."

Grimmjow narrows his eyes. "We ain't friends, kid."

Ichigo tries not to show it, but the remark hurts him. It must've shown in his eyes anyway, or maybe the way he cringed slightly, because Grimmjow lets out an irritated sigh.

"W-well…" Ichigo glowers up at him. "Well, I consider you my friend, so deal with it, stupid old man!"

"Tch, you can't just go off deciding that on your own, shitty brat."

"Yes I can. I just did." Ichigo sticks out his tongue at him and Grimmjow reaches out his hand, flicking his forehead with a finger, a sharp but brief pain shooting through Ichigo's head. "Ow! That hurt, you jerk!"

"Good."

"I take it back. I don't wanna be friends anymore."

"Fine with me." Grimmjow returns to looking out over the city. The wound he had a weak ago has faded to a faint scar, and all the other cuts on his arms have healed as well. Is that why he's leaving? Because he's healed up now? "I won't be here tomorrow."

The remark hits him like a lightning strike, and Ichigo swears he can hear something in his chest crack at the thought of Grimmjow's absence. Things would revert to how they were before, where his days are dreary with no silver linings in sight, and it's selfish, but he doesn't want that. Being all alone again, well, anything is better than that.

Grimmjow glances at him and scowls. "Don't give me that look."

"You can't just _leave_!" Ichigo exclaims desperately, making wild hand gestures. "We just met, and… and I…"

"I can't stay here." Grimmjow replies sharply, getting impatient. "I don't belong here."

Ichigo knows that. He has known that from the beginning, but he still doesn't want Grimmjow to leave so soon. It's just been little over a week, and Ichigo is certain that once Grimmjow leaves, he's never going to see him again. Just having found a friend like this, the thought pains him more than he can articulate.

"But I…." He trails off, staring down at his feet despondently.

"But _what_?" Grimmjow snaps, clearly fed up with the conversation.

Ichigo is quiet for a moment, fingers digging into the fabric of his pants. "I'm gonna say something really embarrassing," he mutters, trying to gather up his courage as he takes a deep breath. "You know, I never had many friends, and… and I never had a sibling, but you're… you're like an older—"

A deafening roar pulses through the warehouse and interrupts him mid-sentence, the sheer force of it shattering whatever is left of the windows. Ichigo nearly falls off the edge, grabbing onto the ledge and steadying himself with a yelp, instinctive fear jump-starting his heartbeat into a mad hammering against his ribcage. Beside him, Grimmjow is already up on his feet, but he looks calm and collected—bored, almost.

"Wh-what…?" Ichigo looks up at him, eyes wide with fright and confusion.

"Stay here," Grimmjow replies curtly, and jumps off.

Before Ichigo realizes it, Grimmjow is already gone. "Grimmjow!" he calls out futilely, looking down to where the man jumped off to, but finding no sign of him, the street below empty. He knows the wise thing to do would be to listen to his order, but Ichigo isn't the type to just sit around and wait.

Barely containing his panic, he scrambles off the ledge and runs towards the stairs. There's a thick wave of energy of something else in the vicinity, and he can't pinpoint it, but it's close. Really close.

He almost trips off the stairs with how fast he's hurrying down. By the time he arrives at ground floor, he can feel the other presence having drawn even nearer to where he is. What was that terrible scream? It sounded like something between human and animal, agonized and furious at the same time.

Edging towards the door leading out to the back-alley, he slowly pushes it open. When he finds the coast is clear, he slips outside, only then realizing that he forgot his schoolbag on the rooftop. Oh, heck. He'll have to come back for it later.

The streets around the warehouse are abandoned, as they tend to be. The sky is in twilight, and aside from what just happened, this could've been a very tranquil afternoon. Ichigo walks around the corner of the warehouse, and picks up loud noises echoing from the street down the block, across from where he's standing. It's akin to what you might hear at a construction site, when they're wrecking a building.

Before he can take another step, there's another roar, and a giant, black figure shoots out of the alleyway, rolling over the ground as if it had been thrown, destroying the road and leaving a track of ruined pavement and rubble in its tumble.

_'What the hell is that?'_

Ichigo is petrified as he watches the… animal? Is it an animal? It looks like a monster straight out of a horror story, with a giant mouth and multiple arms and legs, a white mask on its face. Whatever it is, he knows he has to get away from it, _now_. If only he'd just listened to Grimmjow, if he'd just stayed upstairs then he would've been safe. Maybe he can still sneak back? It doesn't look like the thing has seen him yet.

Taking a step back, his heel presses onto a shard of cracked glass, the sound sharp and damning.

The monster turns its head, and looks directly at him.


	4. MEMORY

**14/11/14 Note:** I wasn't going to update this before Sunday but the response I got for the last chapter made me impatient to upload this one. Thank you so much for all the kind reviews, they really make my day much brighter!

I'm a bit sad that I can't reply to some of them (either because they're anonymous or the PM thingy is disabled) so I'll just leave this general note here that I appreciate every single review tremendously, and it really brings me joy to know that people out there find pleasure in this little work I've spent so much time on planning and writing. I get all giddy whenever I get an alert saying that someone reviewed the story. So, in short, you guys rock! Also note that the chapter after this one will be told in Grimmjow's POV, so you have that to look forward to!

* * *

**IV: MEMORY**

Ichigo's heart jumps into his throat, muscles and airways paralyzed by fear. The wild beast lunges with its jaws spread open wide, running towards him with a howl that makes his eardrums ache. That's when he finally snaps out of his catatonic state as if someone flipped a switch in his head and his vocal cords start working again. A scream bursts through his lips as he runs as fast as he can, the monster at his heels.

This is way worse than being chased by any bully. He might actually die. That thing might actually _kill him_.

He can't outrun it. It was stupid of him to try, anyway. The monster's leaps catch up to him almost instantly, its giant paws sending tremors through the soil, and Ichigo can feel its teeth snapping at his back.

Is he going to die here? Is he going to get eaten?

The feeling of nausea is overpowered by the kind of fear that feels like sharp nails clawing down his back, cold sweat breaking out on his skin and his heart pumping blood on record speed, feeling as if its thumping alone might shatter his ribs in how violent it is. He can feel it pounding in his head, like a horrible drumbeat counting down the seconds to the end.

This is it.

He feels the teeth rip through the back of his shirt.

_This is it._

Just as he squeezes his eyes shut and prepares for the gruesome blow, legs still sprinting, he hears a horrible crunching of bone right behind him accompanied by a wet, gushing noise. He comes to a halt slowly, eventually stopping several feet away, giving his lungs finally the opportunity to continue working.

For a moment he thinks that the monster did bite into him and his brain is just slow on catching up on it, but when the looks over his shoulder, breath as heavy as steam, what he sees is something completely different.

Grimmjow stands there as if a hunter having just slain a lion with his spear, his fist cracked into the creature's mask from where purple goo is pouring out, an annoyed look on his face as if he's dealing with a persistent insect. The fist that is crammed firmly into the beast's body starts glowing red. Crimson light bursts from his hand, and Ichigo can only gawk as the monster disintegrates with a last, dying howl, vanishing into dust.

It's as if he's standing in the midst of a fairy tale, having just witnessed the hero of the story slay the dragon. It leaves an enormous impact on Ichigo's young mind, as it symbolizes everything he strives for; pure strength, the power to protect. Sure, the monster in his imagination is a different one from the beast that just tried taking an actual bite out of him, but the idea behind it is the same. He wants to be at least as strong as Grimmjow one day.

"Tch!" The man in question looks aggravated, directing his scalding glare to Ichigo and making him flinch. "Thought I told you to stay upstairs, shitty brat."

"It worked out fine, didn't it?" Ichigo murmurs, breath still heavy. "Besides, what was that thing? It was _huge_!"

"Something you should stay away from."

"Is that why you said it's safer up there?" he questions as Grimmjow turns around and starts walking away. He's nearly jogging to keep up with the lazy but long strides. "Because of monsters like that?"

Grimmjow doesn't reply to that, but Ichigo assumes it is a yes, which is a bit confusing. Grimmjow dealt easily with the situation, he's clearly not scared—is there something else threatening him?

"Go home, brat. It's getting late."

"I forgot my bag upstairs," Ichigo responds, adding carefully, "Could you, um, give me a lift?" A sudden exhaustion starts pulling down on his muscles like gravity, and he really doesn't feel like climbing up all those steps again.

From the displeased quirk of the corners of Grimmjow's mouth, Ichigo can tell he's really pushing it. He's almost expecting a no, until Grimmjow grabs him by the waist with one arm and slings him over his shoulder as if he weighs nothing. When he jumps, Ichigo feels like he's soaring, and when he thinks about how this might be the last time he gets to experience it, his mood sours.

The cool wind of the jump is heaven to his heated skin, and he catches a glimpse of the cityscape as they fly up, the many lights beaming in a gradually increasing darkness nudging him further into depression when he realizes he'll likely never have this experience again.

They land on the rooftop and Grimmjow drops him on the ground carelessly, right next to his bag, Ichigo wincing briefly but not making a sound. "Now get going."

Ichigo stares up at him from his spot on the ground, shoulders hunched. "Are you gonna be here tomorrow?"

"No," Grimmjow replies brusquely, making his fingers curl into fists.

"So that's it? I'm never gonna see you again?"

Grimmjow sits back down on the ledge, elbows resting on his knees. He looks at Ichigo in an annoyed sort of puzzlement, as if he cannot understand why he would be upset about this.

"What's wrong with you, kid? You touched in the head or something?"

Ichigo's jaw clenches down hard, his bottom lip starting to quiver. Grimmjow's brows raise slightly.

"Shit, are you gonna start crying?"

Feeling humiliated, Ichigo blinks rapidly, trying to work the tears down that have started making his eyes watery.

Grimmjow groans at the sight of it, rubbing his forehead in apparent frustration. "Seriously," he mumbles to himself, before looking back down to Ichigo with a scowl. "Man up, you fucking wimp. Knights don't cry."

Taking a deep breath, Ichigo swallows down the lump in his throat; Grimmjow is right, knights don't cry. They never cry, they're strong, even in the face of loss.

But that doesn't mean he can't be sad.

"Listen up, Kurosaki," Grimmjow says sternly and Ichigo's sadness is overtaken by shock. It's the first time Grimmjow has called him by his name. "You ain't a bad kid. Annoyingly stubborn, and probably a little dim-witted, but you got fire in ya. It's a good quality to have, it'll take you places if you're determined enough.

"So if you don't have a home, build one. If you want comrades, give people a reason to follow you. No one's gonna hold your hand and walk you through life. You gotta learn to walk by yourself."

Ichigo sniffs quietly, wiping the wetness away from his lashes, his breathing erratic. He's listening to what Grimmjow is saying, but all he's hearing is that this is goodbye and they won't see each other ever again. Grimmjow is going to leave and never return, leaving Ichigo behind in a life with no home and no family. He doesn't want that. He doesn't want to learn to walk by himself.

"Take me with you!" he exclaims, standing up with an almost angry glare. It's not fair. Why does he have to be left behind? Why always him?

Grimmjow shakes his head. "Where I'm going ain't no place for a brat like you."

"But—"

"You're one crazy little shit," Grimmjow says, the harsh look on his face making place for slight amusement as well as irritation. "My home is a dead man's land. Weaklings like you don't belong there."

_Weakling_. That's how Grimmjow thinks of him. A weak, whiny little kid who knows nothing of the world.

Trying to regain some of his pride in front of Grimmjow, Ichigo tries calming himself down and crosses his arms over his chest, sad gaze aimed at the ground. He'll prove Grimmjow wrong, and then he'll regret not taking Ichigo with, consequences be damned.

"So this is goodbye?"

A smack upside the head makes him yelp, and he looks up to see Grimmjow's admonishing gaze. "Idiot. You get depressed way too easily. Stop sulking."

"But if you leave," Ichigo replies pleadingly, "if you leave then I—"

"If you wanna see me again," Grimmjow interrupts him curtly, "then get stronger. That's all there is to it."

"As if it would be that easy!" Ichigo snaps with a pout, glaring down at his feet. He only looks up again when Grimmjow gets off the ledge and stands up, kneeling down to get on eye-level.

"You're gonna be alright," he says, his gaze sincere, and Ichigo can feel himself choking up again, but tries to keep his composure, back straight and chin up. "'Sides, a dead guy like me would make for a shit older brother."

Ichigo's lips contort as he tries to keep it all in even if it's starting to burst at the seams, and Grimmjow picks up his bag, handing it to him.

"Get going, you shitty brat," he orders, and although Ichigo wants to protest, wants to throw a tantrum and scream and whine, the resolute look on the Grimmjow's face makes his defiance crumble, and all he can do is nod shakily, bag clutched to his side.

Knights follow orders.

He turns around, and with lead in his feet he starts walking towards the stairs. It takes every ounce of his will-power not to turn around because he knows if he even catches a glimpse of the man now he'll go running back and beg to be taken along. That's a humiliation he refuses to suffer. He has to be strong.

Somehow, he manages to make it down the stairs, going a step at a time, his heart sinking further down with each. It feels like hours have passed by the time he reaches the ground floor and Grimmjow's aura starts fading, their goodbye finally sinking in.

Stepping outside, the air feels colder than it should and the sky seems to lack its usual color. It feels like his bag is filled with stones and his chest is heavy.

Walking down the street, he only stops twice.

The first time, when he looks over his shoulder, Grimmjow is still there. Sitting high up on the ledge, looking out over the city as if it belongs to him—for the first time, he really does look like a king.

The second time, when he's near the end of the street and about to turn a corner and he looks again, Grimmjow is gone.

* * *

_"So that's it? I'm never gonna see you again?"_

With a flick of his index finger, the air rips apart into a black hole, the Garganta like an empty void welcoming him back inside. The fresh air of Karakura Town that's riddled with pure, small flecks of light reiatsu clashes with the dark out-pour from the Hollow homeworld, and for a moment, Grimmjow pauses, glimpsing a last time at the city.

Somewhere down below, he knows, a small child is on his way back home, sorrowful from his parting with a monster similar to (albeit more evolved than) the one that tried to eat him earlier.

It's difficult for him to understand how a kid like that could form such a strong attachment to him. He must've known of Grimmjow's true nature, he must've sensed some of it, but it didn't deter him in the least. He still latched onto him, as if the Arrancar was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Humans really are fucking incomprehensible.

_"If you wanna see me again, then get stronger. That's all there is to it."_

Maybe, some day…

Grimmjow shakes the thought off, and steps into the Garganta.

* * *

When he arrives home, it takes approximately three seconds for Mrs. Fukui to find him and start yelling at him for being late again. Instead of flinching or taking a submissive posture, this time, Ichigo ignores her. He can't do this, not now, not when he just suffered the loss of a friend.

This behavior startles her, he can tell from the way her screaming starts getting louder and more nonsensical. She's used to seeing him apologize over and over and act much like a kicked puppy as he's dragged up to his room. This time he doesn't even wait for her and goes up the stairs on his own accord.

His blood boils more and more with each step he takes. Whatever he does, it's either not good enough, or a complete disappointment, a reason for Mrs. Fukui to yell at him and belittle him. As if he were her property, just there for her to take her frustrations out on whenever she feels like it.

"Are you listening? LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!" she screeches, face burning up red from anger.

Having reached the top of the stairs, the anger pulses palpably through his skull and his synapses sizzle.

Ichigo takes a deep breath that burns like fire through his throat, spins around to look down at her, and for the first time, he screams.

"SHUT_ UP_!"

The deafening silence in the house feels like a sweet relief, offering him immense satisfaction in finally having been the one who caused it, the one who ended up being in control. She looks at him as if he just slapped her in the face, her expression frozen in a state of fury beyond words and sheer horror.

He doesn't wait for a retort and storms off to his room, slamming his door shut for good measure. Not a squeak from Mrs. Fukui.

Is this the way to live? Fighting to win, in every aspect of his life? He fought his bullies and it resulted in a crushing victory. He just fought Mrs. Fukui, and even though it was a single act of defiance, it worked. Maybe trying to avoid conflict isn't how the world works. No, it's clear to him now that the world is a very cruel place; the existence of Hueco Mundo, the fights Grimmjow got into that resulted in such deep wounds, the way Ichigo has been targeted by other kids, it all has culminated into this single message in his mind.

Fighting to win is the only way to survive. Fighting to survive will eventually kill you. It's not good enough anymore to play the nice guy.

He sits down on his bed, trying to picture Grimmjow's face inside his mind. He's spent so much time staring up at him that it's difficult to imagine a frontal view.

Then he remembers, during their goodbye, the way Grimmjow _knelt down _to his level. The more he thinks about it, the more stunning it really is. Grimmjow is a king, maybe not in the real sense but certainly in Ichigo's eyes, and kings rarely kneel.

The realization works as a double-edged sword, sweet bitterness at understanding that regardless of Grimmjow's behavior, in the end, he did care to some extent. He cared about the weak, whiny little brat.

And now he's gone.

_"You gotta learn to walk by yourself."_

He will. He'll get stronger, so strong that he doesn't need anyone else to walk with him. He won't depend on anyone else, he'll fight and he'll win by himself, live for himself, uphold the principles he believes in. He'll be noble, and kind, and he'll protect those that can't do it by themselves so that they won't have to go through what he did.

Grimmjow became a king. He set the goalpost.

Now it's up to Ichigo to reach it.

* * *

Time trickles down smoothly, days dropping down like rain that gets washed away into the gutter, irreversible. The image of his face, the color of his eyes, the wildness of his hair all gradually fades.

It takes him weeks to forget the exact design of that intimidating mask with its jagged fangs. It takes him months until he can't remember what that rough baritone sounded like to his ears. It takes him years to have trouble recalling the exact shade of half-lidded eyes. Even that signature smirk, with all its sharp teeth and wicked mischief, becomes just a memory.

Ichigo still clings to it as much as he can, as that same memory is his only driving force that ever motivates him anymore. Everything else just seems like white noise, irrelevant in the grand scheme of things and ultimately not worth wasting his time or energy on. All that matters is that he pushes forward.

The bullies have gotten bigger and stronger, but seldom do they engage him unless they have an overwhelming amount of numbers; no few than ten, and even then victory isn't assured. Everyone knows about the Kurosaki kid, the demon in the dojo who'll knock you on your ass before you ever see him coming. His fighting style is brutal, offers no mercy, has a raw power about it that's not applied entirely recklessly. Kurosaki knows how to control it, and that's what scares them the most. Lethal effectiveness.

Oh, he's definitely grown in many ways. He's taller, he fights more, he scowls more, he talks back more, and somehow, at some point, he finds himself surrounded by people by the time he turns thirteen.

Tatsuki has always been there, but as he enters junior high a pair of odd friends attach themselves to him despite his rumored "delinquent" behavior. Mizuiro Kojima has no sense of fear and Keigo Asano clearly has a death wish. Ichigo isn't sure what to do with them or what to think of them, and settles on accepting their presence for lack of a better idea.

Then there's Yasutora Sado, or as Ichigo calls him, Chad. A foreign kid with a name Ichigo has a tendency to misread, instead preferring a simple nickname that sticks. Chad is a bit different to him than his other friends, mostly because he is strong. He's a fighter. Ichigo respects that, considers him more of an equal, closer to a friend than anyone else has ever been beside Grimmjow. They beat up wannabe gangsters together and always have each other's backs; to him, this is what friendship should be like.

Despite all these developments in his social life, some things have remained the same, or even taken a turn for the worst.

Ever since he became fed up with his situation at home five years ago, everything has gone downhill. Some factors were entirely out of his control; his adoptive father being fired for committing fraud is one example, but seeing as how Ichigo is now the scapegoat at home, it's all taken out on him.

Mrs. Fukui's temper gets more volatile with each and every passing day. Mr. Fukui starts drinking. They start fighting. Sometimes Mr. Fukui hits his wife, sometimes she hits him, and most of the time, Ichigo is smart enough to escape through his bedroom window whenever things get to that point. Mostly thanks to his quick wit and excellent reflexes, he's never been hit (and really, a drunken man's aim isn't the greatest to begin with) but that doesn't meant that it doesn't hurt.

Sure, whatever they had before wasn't much of a home, but at least it was tranquil in its own way. A void, perhaps, but preferable to the constant hostility he finds in every corner of the house whenever he arrives from school. So naturally, he starts going home less and less, doing his homework in the school's library and staying outside until the late evening hours, managing to sneak some food up to his room from whatever is left from that night's dinner. Other times, he stays over at Chad's place. His adoptive parents never seem to care enough to ask, not that he expected anything else.

His friends know there's some problems at home, but they don't have the courage to ask. Chad and Tatsuki are the only ones who attempted bringing it up a few times, but after being snappily shut down with an irritated glare from Ichigo, they know not to venture there again.

Amidst all of this (studying hard, beating up punks, avoiding home), sometimes he still thinks about Grimmjow when he sees a lost spirit wandering around the town, or when he happens to pass through the districts filled with warehouses. He always wonders what has become of the man, what he's up to in that purgatory called Hueco Mundo.

When he's feeling really nostalgic, he tries to picture Grimmjow sitting on the edge of a tall building, wind-swept hair as blue as ever, gaze deceptively bored, ruffled jacket hiding little of his toned muscles.

Whenever he does picture it, there's a sharp twinge of sadness in his chest that outweighs the gratitude, and so he turns away.

Time trickles down smoothly, _too _smoothly, days dropping down like dead leaves that get blown away by the wind, irreversible. His face, his eyes, his hair, his voice, his smirk, his confidence, his dominance, his cynicism, his strength—

It's faded, but it will always remain.


	5. CHANGE

**18/11/14 Note:** Dammit you guys. I can't maintain a freaking schedule if you force me to keep updating early with your awesome support. Thank you all so much, and have fun with this next chapter!

* * *

**V: CHANGE**

The sand has always been a solid constant in his life. It buries him in its storms, scorches the bottom of his feet, delights in making him slip off dunes and roll to the bottom of a valley, grains slipping into the most unpleasant places imaginable. It hides the prowlers, swallows the weak and elevates the strong.

He's fucking sick of it. It surrounds his whole world, enveloping his fellow inhabitants with a sense of hopelessness, a sense of unjust damnation.

Once upon a time, he looked out over the deserts and thought, '_I will make this mine'_. He saw glory in this impossible quest—or rather, it was glorious because of its impossibility. Sweet fruit hanging down the branches, just low enough for him to graze his fingertips on it, but not low enough to pluck.

Now the fruit is rotting and he can't recall what made him so hell-bent on conquering these ever-shifting plains in the first place.

He'll still do it, though. There's nothing else for him to do. Nothing else left.

The memory of the city lights stays with him as he travels, footsteps quickly erased by a strong wind howling over the white sand and against his body, as if attempting to blow him down. The only light here radiates from the crescent moon hanging above, untouched and solemn in an abyss of black. Nevertheless, this gloomy view is still preferable to the artificial dome of Las Noches that emulates a mockery of the sky in the human world.

Now he's actually seen it, if there is one thing he likes the most from that world, it is certainly its sky. It shifts constantly, an endless cycle of sun, moon, stars, rain, light, clouds, and even rainbows on one occasion, the scattering light like a painter's palette.

Maybe it's not even that human sky he longs for. Maybe what he longs for is the same reason he was the first and probably _only _Arrancar to turn on its creator, even if it had been a suicide attempt which he miraculously survived only due to his quick wits and reflexes, a cat barely managing to land on its feet after a reckless jump.

A part of him is definitely envious of those humans, who ruined the bursting colors of sunset and sunrise with their horrid skyscrapers, unappreciative of what they were given. Instead they choose to scurry around in their little nest of metal and stone like a swarm of ants—what did _they _ever accomplish to deserve such a treasure? They're born in a place that welcomes them with open arms unconditionally, whereas his world continuously tries to kill its newborns.

And what do they do with this generous, beautiful world of theirs? They maim it with the noise of machines, fumes from factories, blissfully oblivious and willfully ignorant. They're such weak, pathetic creatures; the very thought that he once used to be part of that anthill sickens him.

Stopping near a large formation of rocks, Grimmjow slips into its shadows and sits down against the cold stone, taking a deep breath through his nostrils.

Small flames of black fire are wandering around the area, but scurry away as soon as they notice his presence. That won't do, of course. Grimmjow needs to eat, needs to regain his strength before he's found by Aizen's lackeys. Chasing off every potential snack heading his way is a bad idea.

He closes his eyes, breathing slowing down, reiatsu reeled in and suppressed, and he waits. He can be extraordinarily patient during a hunt, and he cannot afford to waste energy by tracking the prey down. He'll have to let them come to him.

It is still an uncomfortably vulnerable position, though. Would just be his shit luck if a strong Arrancar wound up finding him like this. Not like most of them are a threat; they wouldn't stand a chance against him. Hell, even any Espada ranked below him would be easily taken care of, but if he runs into, say, Ulquiorra—

Cursing at the memory, his hand reflexively presses onto the scar left below his rib-cage that still burns, on his right side. That cut nearly killed him. He'd tanked it, underestimating the strength put behind it in favor of trapping the Cuatro with a Caja Negación, locking him up in an alternate dimension for a few hours. Usually he wouldn't have taken this much damage from a tussle with that guy, but the stupid fucking bat had been ordered to _kill_. As much as Grimmjow talks trash, he knows his limits, and he knows when it's in his best interest for a tactical retreat.

He can't really say why he rebelled in the first place. It was the pointlessness of it all, he supposes. Here Aizen assembled this great army, and what's he doing with it? Just sitting around, waiting for the enemies to catch on and invade?

Grimmjow wasn't named the Espada of Destruction for shits and giggles; it's in his blood, it's what he craves. Destruction is change. Change like the human sky, but also sudden, brutal, and violent change—that's the root of his need for destruction. He hates constancy, especially the kind that has him subservient to some Shinigami piece of shit with a God-complex.

In the end, he supposes that's why he left to the human world, among other reasons. It was also the main reason why, in the two weeks he spent there, he tolerated the presence of the whiny, weak little boy who found him and clung to him like glue. The orange-haired brat provided a change of pace, but like all things, eventually Grimmjow grew bored of it. His wound was sufficiently healed, and he saw no further reason to stay. The brat could entertain only for so long, and his typical little human troubles didn't concern Grimmjow much.

Sure, there was potential there, he recognized as much. Great potential, in fact—the kid could grow up to become someone truly worth fighting in a battle to the death. There's something about his reiatsu that's different than anything he ever sensed before, as he had plenty of time to pick apart its composition during the two weeks the brat had followed him about. There was something about it that was similar to his own, yet opposite at the same time. A wild contradiction that puzzles him more than the kid's unhealthy attachment to his person.

In the end, though, it started getting old, and once more, he desired change, back to a more familiar pace. The peaceful days in the human world offered good rest, but it's not anything that could ever hold his attention for longer than a brief period of time. His lust for battle is not something easily placated, and definitely not by a human child either.

A black flame of Hollow reiatsu inches closer and interrupts his musings, unaware of the danger lurking on the other side of the rock formation. Grimmjow pushes himself up off the ground, moving quietly in the shadows. He wouldn't have to be feeding like this had Ulquiorra not practically speared him. His regeneration was never the best, most of it traded in for more power and tougher skin, leaving him vulnerable in moments like these. Eating isn't going to be very pleasant.

As he moves, he feels the wound starting to throb, making him wince slightly and grit his teeth at the sharp pain. Fuck it, he really needs the boost. If that means going back to the old days and getting blood all over him, fine.

Rounding the rock formation, he takes a casual glance around the corner, spotting a slender, tall, green-skinned and humanoid looking Hollow with an elongated head, standing with its back to him. Big mistake.

Grimmjow waits for a second or so more, in case the shit decides to conveniently turn around before he can make his stealth kill and cause a ruckus. It looks like the Hollow is surveying its area, but it hasn't detected the former Sexta just yet.

Speaking of which, he should get rid of that fucking tattoo already. Maybe find new clothes as well, though that seems unlikely in this kind of environment, but he'd really like to get rid of the fucking uniform. There's nothing wrong with walking around naked in principle, since it's not like most Hollows give a shit about nudity, but he's gotten too used to clothes now, and walking around with his cock and balls hanging out just seems too crude, even for him. He supposes that as far as the clothes go, at the moment, he doesn't have any other choice.

He steps out from around his cover, disappears for a split-second and reappears instantly with his fist torn through the Hollow's lower abdomen. The creature makes a gurgling noise before it slides off Grimmjow's blood-soaked forearm and collapses on the sand.

Bending down, the solitary predator tears the arm of the Hollow's corpse off, sharp teeth digging into the flesh and ripping it into his mouth chunk by chunk, crouched low as he eats up to the bone, the reiatsu pouring into his system.

Back when he was an Adjuchas, he could just clamp his strong panther jaws down onto his prey's neck and eat from its reiatsu like that, if the prey was small enough for it. He's not in his animal form anymore, though, so now he has to eat like a human. It's way too fucking troublesome and takes far too long, not to mention that it tastes a lot more disgusting than he remembers, but he has no choice.

He devours both of the arms and large chunks of the Hollow's torso after cutting it up, but before even reaching the lower half, his appetite bails on him and he stands up, leaving the corpse to turn into dust and spitting out a mouth full of blood, both the remnant of his Hollow mask and the lower half of his face smeared in it.

If nothing else, it has given his regeneration a good kick. He can feel the internal damage left from his wounds quickly healing again, and he reaches around to touch his back to deal with his other problem. The tattoo.

He could burn it off with a Cero, but that would leave an ugly scar that his regeneration can't heal. If he just cuts off the skin, it should eventually regrow without a mark on it—but for that, he needs more fuel. More food.

Turning away from the rock formation, he picks a direction at random, and walks.

* * *

It's easy to forget about time when the sky never changes. He doesn't care to keep track of it, anyway. Instead he eats, heals, trains, eats more, heals more, and without realizing it, years have already passed.

Eventually, he is found.

And it is a shock to both of them when Ulquiorra reacts slower to his attacks than before.

Grimmjow had a bit of fun fucking up the Forest of Menos. A bit too much fun, probably; he killed all the Adjuchas guarding it, as well as some Shinigami guy nearby who apparently had been left stranded here. None of them made for satisfactory opponents, not after the months and months of rigorous training he did to build up his strength even more than before, taking on the strongest evolved Hollows he could find outside of Las Noches, killing one after the other without pause for rest or feeding, pushing his stamina to the limit.

It's a fucking wonder they didn't find him sooner, or maybe they didn't care to. Probably didn't see him as a threat. When he practically chased all the Gillian-class Menos out of the Forest, however, they sent someone after him.

None other than the Cuatro, of course.

And yet, why does it feel like Ulquiorra has grown weaker?

Exchanging blows with him in the forest, surrounded by giant trees made of a silvery quartz substance, Grimmjow compares this encounter with the one they had a long while ago. There, undoubtedly, Ulquiorra had the upper hand. Now, it seems the opposite is true. Grimmjow's reflexes are sharper somehow, more strength behind his blade, more reiatsu that clashes violently against the enemy.

"What's the matter, Ulquiorra?" Grimmjow taunts him after having ripped through the Cuatro's shirt, revealing the tattoo on his chest, while he himself has a long cut on his cheek. "You got weaker while I was away?"

Ulquiorra's face is blank as usual. Constantly blank. It's probably the thing he despises most about the man, next to looking at the '4' inked onto his white skin. His own tattoo of Sexta Grimmjow got rid of a long time ago—now being the only rogue Arrancar in Hueco Mundo, walking alone. What became of his Fracción he doesn't know nor does he care to know; they were all too weak to keep up with him to begin with. It's fine this way. He doesn't need anyone else. He's become so strong in that short amount of time to where he can now almost completely overpower Ulquiorra in a clean fight.

The Cuatro's blade cuts through the air in a swing that aims for Grimmjow's neck, who smacks it away with Pantera and aims it to pierce his opponent's chest—parried narrowly, the tip of it cuts over Ulquiorra's shoulder instead. Grimmjow intends to pull it down and slice his opponent's shoulder clean off, but the man's blade blocks him.

It's just what he wanted. With Ulquiorra occupied by pushing back against Pantera, there's an opportunity.

Grimmjow raises his free hand. "No, that's not it, you couldn't have gotten _that _much weaker," he answers his own question with a gleeful smirk, crimson light gathering in his palm, Ulquiorra's eyes widening minutely. "Maybe I just got stronger!"

The Cero fires off and for a moment he has no idea if it worked or not; dodging it point black had to have been impossible even for the Cuatro, but he doubts the stupid bat would kick the bucket just from that. As the light fades out and the dust settles, Grimmjow finds him a few feet away, the edges of his jacket and patches of skin on his arms singed but otherwise unharmed, his own finger still stretched out.

So he countered it with one of his own.

The smirk on Grimmjow's face is so wide it's starting to make his jaws hurt, but he can't help himself as he lunges for the bat once more, lashing out in a frenzy of bloodlust with Ulquiorra barely blocking each rapid attack. Pantera grazes over Ulquiorra's chest, cutting through the number 4 tattoo—it is a shallow cut, but the delightful little symbolic jab at Aizen makes Grimmjow cackle madly, like a slightly deranged child with a shiny new toy. This sheer _power _he suddenly has over the Cuatro feels so good it's damn near arousing.

"What's wrong, Ulquiorra?" Grimmjow yells as his opponent dodges the next blow aimed at his face and distances himself with Sonido, the cut marring his tattoo bleeding lightly, soaking the lower half of the number in blood as it trails down his chest. "At this rate you'll get skewered!"

"Foolish, nothing but meaningless bravado," Ulquiorra replies slowly, voice as monotonous as ever, green eyes unnervingly steady and unchanging. "You'll regret getting in Lord Aizen's way, trash."

"Tch, wanna make good on that promise?" Grimmjow scoffs unimpressed, lips curled in a mocking sneer.

Ulquiorra decides to take him up on that taunt.

"Imprison, _Murciélago_."

* * *

What the fuck happened back there?

"Dammit," he hisses, the action prompting a coughing fit that splatters blood all over the ground he's sitting on, hiding behind one of the few trees left in the Forest of Menos.

Why did no one tell him that there's this fucking thing called a _Segunda Etapa_? And why did that asshole have to be the one to have discovered it, out of all Arrancar? Next time he gets to his inner world he's going to flay Pantera for not mentioning this, that worthless shitsack of a fucking cat.

The both of them in their initial Resurrección forms, Grimmjow maintained a slight edge—the stupid bat was rusty from all that doing nothing in Las Noches. While Grimmjow fought to increase his strength, all the Espada pretty much sat on their asses in their little palace and did jack all. It's only natural that his base skills are more developed.

Even so, that advantage was decimated when Ulquiorra pulled out his second form. Before that, Grimmjow managed before to maim his left arm, sever the tendons in his right leg and cut through his right shoulder (his own wounds ranging from severely burned claws from blocking a Cero Oscuras, multiple cuts on his torso and a limp in his step from injuries).

All of that was wiped away as Ulquiorra transformed, regenerated all the damaged limbs, and ended up overpowering him with ease. His _Lanza del Relámpago _alone wiped out a substantial amount of the forest they were fighting in, missing Grimmjow only because it was a technique so difficult to control.

After that show of power, the former Sexta practically high-tailed it out of there. He ain't gonna throw his life away, especially not to Ulquiorra; it severely wounded his pride, but he's not a _total _maniac. He doesn't have a death wish. The only option was to retreat.

Now he's bleeding profusely, there's a numbness in his left foot running up to an excruciating pain from a stab wound in his upper left leg, he can't move his claws anymore because of the burns, blood from a cut in his forehead keeps leaking into his eyes, he's sweating, aching, panting, exhausted—

Warm bile rises in his throat and his chest tightens in agony as he vomits a cup full of blood on the ground between his knees, intense vertigo making it hard to concentrate. Concussion, broken ribs, internal bleeding—let alone the rest of his injuries. He's fucked.

Dark reiatsu pulses from above, making him freeze, eyes wide. "Shit."

Ulquiorra is looking for him. He can feel the Cuatro's reiatsu soaring above the forest, searching. Grimmjow has become quite the master in masking his presence for quick stealth attacks, but if he keeps sticking around, he'll be found.

Where can he run to? Hueco Mundo isn't safe with this bat flying about in search for him; no matter how far he goes Ulquiorra will track him down.

Unless he crosses worlds.

It's safe to assume no one knew where he fled when he left Las Noches last time. Opening up a Garganta would create a spike in reiatsu that Ulquiorra will no doubt detect, so he has to do it quickly, but the Cuatro definitely won't be able to know where he went.

He grits his teeth and decides he has no other option, slowly managing to push himself up off the ground, his muscles screaming in protest as he leans heavily against the silvery tree. Raising a shaky arm, he rips open the black portal.

There's a flapping of wings from above and Grimmjow practically throws himself through the Garganta, landing harshly. As it slowly closes behind him, the last thing he sees before that is a slender hand reaching out for him as if death itself is trying to drag him to hell, though the portal closes before that can happen.

Relief hits him like a flood, and as the adrenaline fades he manages to crawl out the other end with no energy left, heart pounding harshly against his bruised bones. He barely registers his surroundings as fresh air hits him, the reiatsu in it thin and hardly making it easier on him. There's the feel of grass on his skin and his Resurrección vanishes, the armor holding him together releasing the flow of blood that nearly chokes him as it fills his throat. Lying on his side, red-burned hands clamped over his wounds, his breathing is throaty and ragged.

How the fuck is he supposed to measure up against a monster like that? There's no way in hell he could even land a single scratch on Ulquiorra the way he is now. Damn it all.

'_Just wait, you bastard—when I come back for you I'll be stronger than ever, and I'll fucking crush you__,' _is his last, spiteful thought before the blood loss becomes too much, and he fades out.

* * *

Kisuke Urahara is, in every sense of the word, a true genius, but even he cannot fathom what could be so urgent for Isshin Shiba and Masaki Kurosaki's son to run through a red traffic-light and nearly cause a car accident, without even stopping to look at what's happening behind him.

The former Shinigami took it upon himself to keep an eye on the kid ever since his folks passed away, every now and again. Most of what falls under that line of duty is to keep Hollows, who are always strongly drawn to Ichigo's reiatsu, away from him and his family. While doing this, Kisuke got to know him a bit better.

Ichigo used to be a lot like both his mother and his father, but with the kind of situation at home that he has, he became more and more reticent as time went on. Kisuke decided it was best that he not intervene—if he did, Ichigo would only be dragged into the mess of the never-ending battle of Shinigami versus Hollow, and perhaps even battles more complicated than that. Both of his parents desperately wanted their son to be able to grow up as a regular human, and who was he to disrupt that last dying wish?

Then again, five years ago, he did come dangerously close to interfering. Something extremely extraordinary happened; Ichigo found the runaway Arrancar before Kisuke did, and _befriended _him.

At the first sign of the Arrancar, Kisuke would say he was quite startled. It was well-known, of course, that after Aizen's betrayal of Soul Society, the man had started building an army of Hollows in Hueco Mundo after causing quite the havoc in Soul Society itself before retreating to the Hollow homeworld.

Why an Arrancar would then randomly appear in Karakura Town was somewhat of a mystery to Kisuke; perhaps, he thought at the time, the Arrancar had been sent by Aizen to track Kisuke down. That seemed unlikely, however—Aizen could not want anything more from Kisuke, seeing as how he perfected his own version of the Hōgyoku and made it superior to the shopkeeper's. That was, after all, why he finally dropped the farce of kind-hearted Squad 5 Captain. He finally finished his research to an extent where he was confident it would aid him in his plans.

And indeed, as Kisuke observed the Arrancar for a while, he noticed the wounds, and the surprisingly low reiatsu. Far more likely did it seem to be that the Arrancar _defected_.

His suspicions were confirmed in a most unorthodox way; namely, Ichigo Kurosaki wandering in the lion's den and instead of cowering from the predator, merrily prancing over to pet its mane. Ichigo seemed not at all scared of the thick, dark, heavy reiatsu that radiated off the Arrancar, instead seeming to be curious more than anything else.

Kisuke wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't monitored the situation himself, but in the end, it seemed to be that there formed some sort of attachment between these two extremely unlikely people. One a Hollow that attained Shinigami powers, the other the result of a union between a Quincy tainted by a Hollow and a Shinigami, born a human—he would've never imagined it. One hybrid meeting another; it was probably one of the most extraordinary things he ever witnessed. Had the Arrancar still been working for Aizen, he wouldn't have been hanging around in an abandoned warehouse, tolerating the presence of a much-too-curious boy and wasting his time.

But, as all things, the unique relationship came to an end, and once more Kisuke took his distance. Over the past four years, Ichigo seems to have made quite the change of character. He's far more aggressive nowadays, easy to tick off, but a surprisingly bright student and almost unbearably protective of his friends. He rarely goes home, which Kisuke can't blame him for, considering the kind of unpleasant people his supposed guardians are.

Now, Urahara finds himself tailing the thirteen year old once more, wondering what has him looking so worked up, his reiatsu fluctuating between tense and excited, bristling with energy.

Ichigo runs into the local park, and only as Kisuke follows does he pick up on what Ichigo has—it is extremely faint, so faint that he is shocked that the boy managed to sense it before him, but it is a flicker of familiar reiatsu.

Keeping to the shadows of the trees as he follows, sure enough, in the distance is a dot of white, blue and red collapsed on the grass in a small clearing.

"Grimmjow!" Ichigo nearly trips several times as he sprints as fast as he can, like his life depends on it, like the Arrancar's life depends on it, which it probably does. In all his frazzled haste the kid actually gets his foot caught and falls down to the ground, rolling over the grass for a few feet before scrambling up to his hands and knees and practically crawling the last bit of distance left to the severely injured Arrancar.

"_Grimmjow_! Wake up, hey! Sh-shit…" The sheer desperation on the boy's face is hard to look at as brown eyes gaze down in horror at all the blood pooling around the Arrancar, his knees soaking in it. Ichigo's hands don't know what to do, hovering just above the bloodied skin, trembling slightly. He touches on the Arrancar's cheek, then slips his fingers down to the pulse point on the Arrancar's neck. He lets out a breath of relief, probably having found a heartbeat, and then looks at the wounded creature's injuries.

The strangled, almost tortured noise the kid makes can only be an indication to the situation being pretty bad. "Just-just hang in there, I'll fix this, I'll fix you, somehow!" Ichigo carefully rolls the Arrancar onto his back, and even from that distance Kisuke can see the hopelessness in the kid's eyes that contradicts the determination in his voice.

Being the good guy that Kisuke is, he can't keep to observing for much longer, can he? Ichigo couldn't possibly ever live the life of a normal human after this anyway, so if he's going to end up becoming part of the mess between the two spiritual worlds, he might as well have someone to guide him through it instead of being thrown off into the deep end.

And it's just sad to watch the otherwise so fierce, headstrong kid practically suffer an internal nervous breakdown as he's being forced to watch his role model (as ridiculous as that notion is) bleed out on the ground. Kisuke watched the goodbye from four years ago—Ichigo truly believed he'd never see the Arrancar again. He can't imagine how painful this kind of reunion must be.

Besides, if that Arrancar really did defect from Aizen, he might have some information on Aizen's plans. It's worth the risk of saving him, at the very least.

So then, aiding a wounded potential enemy, eh?

Ah, well. He's done crazier things in the past.


	6. DEAL

**22/11/14 Note:** Thanks for all the lovely responses last time, I'll try to keep up a stream of steady updates! Also keep in mind that 13 year old Ichigo looks a lot like the one in canon at the beginning of the series, but is still a bit shorter and more boyish looking. Enjoy this next installment!

* * *

**VI: DEAL**

Soft. Warm. Numbness.

Those are the first three things Grimmjow's hazy mind registers as he cracks his eyelids open, muscles in his fingers flexing as his hands twitch, curling into the bed-covers underneath. His injuries don't hurt all that much anymore, but the drawback to that seems to be the stiffness and soreness that has taken the pain's place. His lips are dry and cracked, and even swallowing is a challenge to his abused throat that was spitting out blood not that long ago.

Above him is a simple, white ceiling, the light of a lamp ensuring the room he's in is well-lit. It takes a moment for his vision to focus itself properly, and before looking around, he closes his eyes again and allows his reiatsu to prod at his environment first, seeking out anyone nearby.

An odd mixture that is not quite Hollow and not quite Shinigami and yet both at the same time surprises him, and his eyes open instantly, head shifting to his right.

He's greeted with the sight of a mop of orange hair on his bedside, stilling his movements completely.

Ichigo Kurosaki, sound asleep and oblivious to Grimmjow's awakening. He's sitting on a chair next to the bed with his upper body draped over the edge of the mattress, head supported by his arms that are folded underneath it.

Well, shit.

He's not sure what the appropriate reaction should be at seeing the brat again so soon—or not so soon? How long has it been? Time isn't a priority to a being that can live up to centuries if it survives; in comparison, human lives are akin to the duration of a single candle. Still, couldn't have been that long seeing as how the kid is still a kid.

When Grimmjow opened the Garganta, he knew he would end up somewhere in Karakura Town, but for this brat to find him _again_ just seems like a stupid joke from fate, or maybe it shouldn't be that much of a shock. Kurosaki has reiatsu at his disposal; he probably sensed the wounded predator before anyone else.

Grimmjow's body tenses as he forces himself up, the simple exertion of sitting making his joints creak loudly and making it hard to breathe. He supports his weight with his hands leaning on the bed behind his back, sweat rolling down his forehead and spine. He feels feverish, too hot for comfort, a bit dizzy and nauseous. All in all, shitty.

Glancing down, he looks at the bandages covering his entire torso and arms, his lower body hidden underneath the blanket. Did Kurosaki treat him?

His eyes drift to the sleeping boy beside him, and he can tell Kurosaki has done some growing, both physically and spiritually. His reiatsu has increased substantially, practically pouring out into the room and nearly polluting the very air around them. Clearly he has either no idea how to control it, or doesn't give a shit; Grimmjow is betting on the former.

He considers his options carefully. With these injuries, even if they have been treated, he won't make it very far. Shit, he needs water. Food as well, but the Hollows that roam around these parts wouldn't sate him nearly as much as the stronger ones in Hueco Mundo. He'll just have to wait for his energy to come back on its own, but staying bedridden like this (and at the mercy of some human, no less) isn't very appealing. At all.

'_Don't have much of a choice,' _he thinks with a displeased scowl, eyeing the youth next to him with curiosity and annoyance. "Oi, wake up." His voice is hoarse, the sentence barely audible, and he clears his throat before trying again. "Wake up, brat!"

The sharp bark has Kurosaki snapping his head up, blinking slowly before he seems to catch on that his 'patient' has finally come to, and suddenly he's wide-awake, a huge smile lighting up his face that only accentuates his boyishness. Still a child, but definitely older than when Grimmjow last saw him. Early teens, he guesses.

"Grimmjow!" He looks so happy that Grimmjow half expects a tail to spontaneously sprout from his back and start wagging excitedly. The look Kurosaki gives him makes him a bit uneasy. It's something he never understood and probably never will; why is Kurosaki so attached to Grimmjow? Of all people to look up to, the Arrancar is on the bottom of that list of recommendations.

At Grimmjow's frown Kurosaki seems to gain some self-awareness, reeling his childlike joy in as his expression comes to mirror the Arrancar's own, albeit more concerned. "You okay?"

"_Fantastic_," Grimmjow sneers, popping the joints in his neck and rolling his shoulders, dull aches in his wounds making him flinch briefly.

"It's been a while," Kurosaki starts, a lopsided smirk trying to hide the genuine joy in his eyes. "I didn't think I'd see you again." There's a pause, and he opens his mouth to say more, but seems to decide against it and snaps it shut again instead.

Kurosaki is itching to ask how Grimmjow ended up like this, he can tell, but for some reason, he's not asking. Did he actually learn some self-restraint while Grimmjow was gone?

The expectant look in Kurosaki's eyes makes him realize he's waiting for some sort of response. Grimmjow doesn't know what he ought to say, though. He supposes it's interesting to see how Kurosaki has developed over the past who-knows-how-many-years, but it's not like he's keeping himself from jumping up and down in elation or something.

"You the one who found me, huh?" is all that comes to mind. A brief flash of disappointment passes on Kurosaki's face, though it disappears just as fast as it came.

"Yeah," Kurosaki is notably quieter now; different from the eight year old Grimmjow first met who would've barraged him with questions. "Though Urahara is the one who helped me get you here, and Tessai treated your—"

Grimmjow tenses automatically at the mention of unfamiliar names, once more diverting his attention to sensing out any others in his vicinity. _Shinigami reiatsu_. A reflexive growl passes curled lips, and he throws off his blanket without thinking, slipping off the bed and standing up with some effort.

"Hey, you're supposed to stay in bed, idiot!" Kurosaki scolds him as he stands up as well, Grimmjow noting briefly that he has definitely undergone a growth spurt, the top of his head nearly reaching Grimmjow's shoulders now as opposed to barely reaching his waist before. It's a bit disorienting—to him, it feels as if mere months have passed.

"I ain't staying in a Shinigami's nest," Grimmjow snaps, trying to will away the dizziness as he looks for Pantera. Fuck. Should've expected that; his sword is gone. "Bastards!"

"Look, Grimmjow," Kurosaki starts, but finds himself ignored as Grimmjow starts walking towards the door, the sharp pain in his left leg still making him limp though he stubbornly ignores it. "Wait up, stupid old man!"

Kurosaki walks ahead of him and blocks his path, scowling deeply.

"Move, shitty brat," Grimmjow sneers back, a smidgen of amusement making the corners of his mouth quirk. Regardless of how Kurosaki has grown, he definitely still has his spitfire personality.

"Just listen, alright?" He looks serious now, the aggravated look on his face softening again. "I… I know about… about what you are."

Grimmjow doesn't reply, unsurprised. Figures he would've discovered sooner or later. So now what? Is he going to take pity on him? He would've thought Kurosaki would start despising him, seeing as how some Hollows tend to prey on humans, but the brat wouldn't have been so happy to see him if that had been the case.

"So?"

"So, I get why you don't like Shinigami—but Urahara isn't going to do anything to you. All he did was heal you! Though, technically Tessai did that, but you get the point, right? They're not gonna hurt you."

No pity, then. Good. But he's still pissed off.

"They took my fucking sword," Grimmjow hisses, brushing past Kurosaki as anger pulses through his veins. Pantera is an extension of his _soul_—no one is allowed to touch it, regardless of their intentions, and if the Shinigami bastard wanted to get off on the right foot with him, this isn't the way to go about it.

He rips the door open as Kurosaki calls his name again, sounding exasperated, but before he can even think about taking a single step he's startled by the form of a blond man in green clothes, twirling _his _precious Pantera around in a hand as if it were a toy.

Grimmjow's temper explodes.

"_You son of a bitch_!"

He lunges with a feral growl, bandaged hands intending to choke the Shinigami to death when something hard slams into his temple and pins him to the ground, body thrumming with pain at the impact, breath choked out of him. For a moment, the world spins, and bile rises to his throat. He swallows it down with some effort, though he has half a mind to throw up just to ruin the Shinigami's carpet.

Quickly regaining his bearings, he decides to ignore the strain and the nausea, murderous glare directed up to the Shinigami. Then a moment of confusion passes through him when he realizes he's being pinned down to the ground with the end of a cane pressing on his temple, until he feels the reiatsu concentrated inside it. Hiding a Zanpakutō in a cane, huh? Sly bastard.

"Now, now, is that any way to greet your savior?" the Shinigami says cheerfully, eyes hidden underneath the shadow of his hat as he continues twirling Pantera around in his other hand for a moment before putting it aside.

"Go fuck yourself_,_" Grimmjow spits venomously, the pressure of the cane on his head increasing and making him grit his teeth, the aftermath of his concussion still pounding in his skull.

"I would prefer not to have to tie you up, Grimmjow. It's quite a hassle for me, and young Ichigo here seems to trust you. You would not want to break that trust, would you?" the Shinigami continues merrily, but Grimmjow doesn't miss the warning undertone in those pleasantly-phrased words.

At the mention of Kurosaki he shifts his gaze to the brat in question standing next to him, noting the facial features twisted into a half-worried, half-angry expression. All this concern from Kurosaki is setting him on edge. Can't he just mind his own fucking business?

Grimmjow breathes in deeply through his nostrils and takes a second to think. Considering that he's too injured to fight, the chance of victory or escape is practically zero. And as much as he despises Shinigami in general, this one seems to have aided him for some reason. Not much of a choice but to go along with it, for now.

"Fine," he grumbles, rolling onto his back and pushing the cane aside. "But I want my sword back."

"Ah-ah-ah," The Shinigami grins, wagging his index finger back and forth. "Not until we've reached an agreement."

"_What _agreement?"

"You used to work for Aizen, did you not?" Grimmjow tenses, eyes narrowing tightly, but he remains quiet. "I'll take that as a yes." He pushes himself up off the ground, holding back a grunt as he refuses displaying any weakness in front of the deceptive Shinigami.

"Who's Aizen?" Ichigo asks, glancing from one adult to the other.

"In due time," the Shinigami says, pulling out a fan out of nowhere and wafting air in his face even though the room itself is plenty cold. "First, introductions! My name is Kisuke Urahara, the owner of this lovely shop you've taken temporary residence in, and also a former Shinigami."

"Former?" Grimmjow scoffs, eyebrows arching slightly. "You don't just quit being a Shinigami."

Urahara waves his fan around, as if brushing the comment away. "Semantics; all you need to know is that I no longer work for Soul Society. Furthermore, I believe you and I may share a common goal. But let's take this discussion somewhere more comfortable."

Being ushered out of a room by a 'former' Shinigami dressed as silly as he is feels like a slight to Grimmjow's pride, and he has half a mind to snatch Pantera from the wall and fight his way out, but that would be a _really _stupid idea. Whoever this Urahara guy is, he is powerful. Too much for him to handle at the moment.

He lets himself be lead into a traditionally styled Japanese room, cushions and a low table being all the furniture present with large sliding doors allowing entrance. There are cups of what smells like tea resting on the table, still hot. He sits down, only then realizing someone took his jacket off. Not that it really matters, but the thought of Shinigami, former or not, laying their hands on his property is grinding his gears.

Kurosaki sits down next to him, watching him from the corners of his eyes when he thinks Grimmjow doesn't notice. Grimmjow meets his gaze, but Kurosaki doesn't look away. Instead he scowls. Grimmjow doesn't remember the kid scowling this much before. Something about his gaze is irritating, but intriguing, nonetheless. Kurosaki knows how strong he is, but it doesn't seem to deter him from mouthing off or putting on an attitude. It's a bit amusing, but irksome more than anything else. The kid had better not get any ideas of superiority in his head, or Grimmjow will have to beat it out of him.

Urahara sits down across from them, putting his fan and cane aside, taking a cup and sipping from it leisurely. Sitting with his legs crossed, hands resting on his knees, Grimmjow waits for exactly five seconds until he can feel a vein pop on his forehead as his temper rises once more. Urahara eventually stops sipping from his tea, and as if to infuriate him further, lowers his cup down very, _very _slowly.

"Are you gonna—"

The Shinigami suddenly slams his cup down on the table and Grimmjow reflexively flinches and tenses once more, glowering irately at the amused Shinigami.

"As I said before, we have a common goal. You defected from Aizen's army, didn't you?"

Grimmjow breathes out, muscles relaxing slightly as he leans back, cocking his head slightly to the left. "What's it to you?"

"Though I no longer work for Soul Society, I still have my own reasons for wanting to take Aizen down. You're lucky that I'm the one who found you; any other Shinigami in the area would've executed you on the spot." Urahara takes another quick sip of his tea, his tone now far more serious. "I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt because of Ichigo."

"You related to him, or something?" Grimmjow asks out of curiosity, glancing at the topic of discussion, who's uncharacteristically quiet next to him.

"No, but I knew his parents, though that is beside the point," Urahara dismisses too quickly, leaving Grimmjow to wonder. Does this mean the Kurosaki's parents were Shinigami as well? That doesn't at all explain the edge of darkness in his reiatsu, though. "Five years ago, I kept an eye on the both of you when—"

"You were spying on us?" Grimmjow interrupts brusquely, though he's mostly just bothered by the fact that it went unnoticed. How did he miss that?

"Why, of course!" The Shinigami grins jovially. "It hardly would've been responsible to let a small child visit a possibly hostile being without supervision!"

'_I don't think the supervision was the issue, you lunatic,' _Grimmjow thinks, but wisely opts to keep his mouth shut for once.

"Anyhow, from observing you two, I concluded that while you have a truly horrible personality, you're still principled enough not to attack a small, defenseless child."

"The fuck do you mean, horrible personality?"

"Hey, I wasn't small, I was average-sized for my age!"

Urahara laughs at the both of them protesting his statement heatedly, ignoring it entirely as he continues, flipping open his fan and hiding his lower face behind it, his shadow-covered eyes the only thing visible. "To cut things short, I want to make a deal with you."

Grimmjow doesn't like the sound of that, and his instincts tell him that trusting a person this shady is probably a bad idea, but he'll have to at least hear it out before making a judgment. "What deal?"

"Consider it a long-term partnership to, ah, dethrone Aizen, as it were." He likes the sound of that, but before he can even respond, Urahara goes on to list his conditions. "First and foremost, there are some requirements for you to meet before the deal can be made. Number one, you cannot harm any humans during your stay here," Urahara starts, back to his more serious persona. "Number two, you'll have to keep a low profile. That means not attacking any Shinigami, unless they engage you first. And number three, you'll naturally have to hand over any bit of information you have on Aizen to me."

"What makes you so sure I want Aizen gone, anyway?" Grimmjow questions, crossing his arms over his chest. He _does _want Aizen gone more than anything; Shinigami don't belong in Hueco Mundo. That's Hollow turf. Before he can become the king, he needs to get rid of that uppity holier-than-thou asshole. Still, that doesn't explain how Urahara knows his feelings on the matter.

"Call it a shopkeeper's intuition," Urahara replies nonchalantly, clearly not intent on giving a straight answer.

Scowling deeply, Grimmjow ponders the deal, but not for too long. The conditions aren't at all that bad—last time he was here, he avoided humans anyway. They're not worth killing. As far as keeping a low profile, that's fine as well, _for now_. If he is actually going to stay in this place even after his injuries have healed, he's going to need some entertainment, and entertainment always translates to a fight. As far as handing over info goes, that's not a problem. He ain't about to keep that psycho's secrets.

"Deal." he acknowledges gruffly.

"Perfect! Now," Urahara says, suddenly turning to Kurosaki, who's been listening in this whole time. "You look like you want to ask quite a few questions, Ichigo."

Kurosaki glances at Grimmjow, as if checking if it's okay with him, before looking back to Urahara. "Yeah, uh, you already told me about Shinigami and Hollows and their worlds and stuff, but you didn't tell me you knew my parents. Were they Shinigami too?" He clearly has to control himself to not blurt out a laundry list of questions, chewing on his lip, before adding another one. "And who's this Aizen guy?"

"Your father was indeed a Shinigami, though he lost his powers and was forced to live as a human due to... ah, shall we say, unforeseen circumstances," Urahara confirmed. "As for you mother, she was a Quincy, actually."

Quincy? Grimmjow has heard that term before, though he never encountered one personally. Bow and arrows. Thought to be extinct. Huh.

Urahara goes on to explain some things about the Quincy and who Aizen is, and though Kurosaki catches on quickly, Urahara's explanations still end up being pretty wordy. Grimmjow tunes him out, disinterested in the topic.

Instead he ponders about his situation; it's pretty desperate, but still leaps and bounds ahead of having to serve some megalomaniac. He suspects he's going to be incredibly bored here, but it's better than getting killed by Ulquiorra in Hueco Mundo. The question is how Urahara is expecting to "dethrone" a man with a whole army at his disposal, unless he's hiding one of his own somewhere in the storage room.

"Can I help?"

Grimmjow looks to Kurosaki with a start, a glance at Urahara telling him he's not the only one startled, though he himself didn't keep track of the conversation at all. Kurosaki's eyes seem almost ablaze, the brown smoldering with intensity.

"Ichigo," Urahara begins, all traces of his joker-persona now gone. "I don't think you understand—"

"I understand fine." Kurosaki replies with steady determination. "He's the guy that killed my parents, right?"

Grimmjow's slight frown deepens, looking from one to the other. What the fuck did he just miss? He probably should've paid more attention.

"It is true that his order to track me down lead to the both of them sacrificing their lives to prevent Aizen from getting to me," Urahara eventually confirms with a sigh. "However-

Attention now fully focused on the conversation at hand, Grimmjow looks intently at Urahara. "What would Aizen want with you?"

"Nothing much," Urahara admits. "I have a certain item that is of some curiosity to him, but not a priority, and I suspect it was a show of power more than anything else."

The fucker does like to brag, Grimmjow has to agree with that. He refocuses his stare on Kurosaki, and notices that while his expression looks calm, one glance at his hands tells otherwise; they're balled into fists, curled into the fabric of his pants and shaking slightly.

"That's all I need to know," Kurosaki says, jaw clenching. "I want to help." At being met with silence, he quickly loses some of his temper, sensing that he isn't being taken seriously. What could a brat like him possibly do against Aizen, after all? "If my mom was a Quincy, and my dad a Shinigami, then I must have gotten some of their powers, right? Grimmjow told me that I have lotsa reiatsu!"

"And how would you be able to help?" Urahara questions patiently. "You've no knowledge or experience to speak of, let alone—"

"Then train me! You owe my parents, don't you?" Kurosaki snaps, fists slamming on the tables. When the Urahara opens his mouth again, Kurosaki beats him to it. "I don't care how difficult it's gonna be, I can't let this guy just get away with murdering my family! Whatever it takes, I'll do it!"

He's definitely got guts, and it seems like that characteristic of his has only grown more prominent as the years have passed. Grimmjow watches with intense curiosity, thinking of the possibilities. If he manages to learn how to control his reiatsu and perhaps even unlock hidden potential, he could make for a truly formidable opponent. The thought is rather enthralling, tickling Grimmjow's battle-crazed side that's practically salivating just from imagining it.

"Are you sure, Ichigo?" Urahara asks quietly, though he need not have. The answer is plainly reflected in that fiery brown gaze. Urahara sighs deeply, before seeming to come to a decision. "I suppose I cannot stop you."

"Great! When do we start?" Kurosaki's eagerness is commendable, at least.

"Not yet. While you do have some reiatsu, most of it is still locked away, if you will, and limited by your human body. There are a few methods to unlocking it, some of them rather, er, unorthodox—"

"What's the fastest way?" Kurosaki blurts out.

Grimmjow feels a strange sensation hit him as Urahara responds to the question, like a wind sweeping through his head and messing up his thoughts. He sways slightly, blinking and shaking his head. Dizziness.

The motion hasn't gone unnoticed, and while Urahara keeps talking to Ichigo, he does glance at Grimmjow while he does so, halting his conversation for a moment to address him.

"There should be a pill on the bedside table in your room; take it, it'll help you recover faster."

Grimmjow opens his mouth to protest, but his grasp on words is slipping. How fucking hard did Ulquiorra hit him in the head? Sure, he threw Grimmjow through several trees and practically dragged his face over the ground, but… yeah, that's not good.

Instead of offering protest or sneering as he'd be usually inclined to do, Grimmjow silently stands up, ignoring the troubled look he's getting from Kurosaki, and retreats to the room he came from, slamming the door shut behind him (unintentionally, not that it matters). His hand automatically reaches for Pantera's hilt still leaning against the wall next to the door, and feeling the powerful humming of his sword underneath his fingers calms him slightly, as if it is greeting him with a contented purr.

He walks over to the bed, spotting a red pill on the nightstand where he leans his sword again. Should he really just take whatever random drug the Shinigami is offering him? Then again, if he'd wanted to do something to Grimmjow, like dissect him or whatever, he probably would've done it while Grimmjow was out of it due to his injuries.

Without sparing it another thought, he takes the pill and swallows it down. The effects are almost instantaneous—a buzz of energy pumps to his wounds, akin to the feeling of natural regeneration, though the sensation is forced in that it comes from an external source.

Fuck, he's still exhausted, though. The pill does well in helping him heal, but not in helping him replenish the lost energy in his fight with Ulquiorra. Plus, he has a lot to think about now. This new deal with the Shinigami sounded pretty reasonable at the time, but the guy just _screams _untrustworthy, so he'll have to watch his back.

But, maybe he can get something positive out of this. Kurosaki actually learning how to fight properly could prove to be valuable entertainment in the long run. He's not sure he entirely buys the story about his parents just being a Shinigami and a Quincy. It doesn't at all explain the dark touch on the reiatsu that Grimmjow is certain Urahara picked up on as well. It is incredibly subtle, but plenty noticeable once you get used to sensing it.

If Kurosaki actually does end up becoming strong enough for him to fight, _that _will be something to see.

The thought tugs his lips into a slight smirk, though it quickly vanishes at a more depressing realization.

'_No point in mulling about this now,_' he thinks crankily, mood soured when he glances down at his bandaged body. _'Can't do shit when I'm this injured anyway. Better rest up.'_

Lying down on the creaky bed, it takes only mere seconds for him to slip his eyes shut and drift off.

* * *

After three days of sleeping, interrupted only periodically by Urahara giving him another pill to swallow, Grimmjow finds that on the third day, his injuries are all completely gone, not even having left any scars. It surprises him a bit; he'd been half expecting to wake up with half his organs gone or something, but for now, it seems Urahara has kept his word.

When it's time to explore the shop, he runs into its other residents.

Its tiny, irritating residents.

"Huh, so you're the freeloader the old man dragged in here a few days ago." The one with the obnoxiously bright red hair is easily the biggest nuisance. The girl at least seems rather meek, and doesn't talk much. The boy is just outside the shop while Grimmjow lingers in the doorway, watching him bounce a ball off his knees and feet. He took a minute before to look around the shop itself, but no items present were enough to catch his attention.

"Freeloader?" Grimmjow repeats slowly, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, free-loa-_der_," the redhead emphasizes, kicking the ball up and head-butting it a few times before letting it drop down to his feet again. "Staying here for free, sleeping for free, taking up space for free—"

Losing interest in the bright red insect that insists on talking to him, Grimmjow turns around and walks away.

"Oi, look at people when they're talking to you!"

The ball shooting towards the back of his head is easily caught between his fingers. He glances over his shoulder to the brat, and with a quick squeeze, the ball in his hand bursts, deflating miserably as he throws it on the ground. The redhead's face is horror-struck.

"You bastard! That was my favorite—"

The girl that has been standing on the sidelines hurriedly tugs his elbow, probably sensing Grimmjow's increasing annoyance. "Let's go clean up the shed."

"But he just—hey, lemme go, Ururu!" The boy is dragged away, cussing up a storm as Grimmjow watches on.

At least one of those two has a brain.

"I see you've met the kids," Urahara's airy voice sounds behind him, and Grimmjow turns around, seeing him standing in the middle of the shop with the fan once more covering the lower half of his face.

"They yours?" Grimmjow asks, hands slipping into the pockets of his hakama. "Annoying little shits." He can practically imagine the grin Urahara is hiding behind the fan, and it does nothing to help his mood along. He feels sore from having been lying in bed for so long, and he's dying for some exercise, until another thought occurs to him. "Where's the other kid?"

"Other kid?" Urahara pretends to be puzzled, before a light-bulb flicks on above his head. "Ah, you mean Ichigo! He is undergoing some training."

At this, the Grimmjow's interest is piqued. "Show me," he demands, no longer the least bit inhibited by his responses with his now healed up body and Pantera strapped to his side, secure.

"Follow the leader!" Urahara says cheerily, and while Grimmjow has some reservations about that, he's too curious _not _to follow either.

And his curiosity is rewarded with… even more questions.

How the fuck do you hide a basement _that _huge underneath a shop? The rocky terrain would definitely do for a great place to practice or to spar, but the sheer size of it is ridiculous. When Grimmjow wondered whether Urahara had an army hiding in his storage room, he'd definitely been sarcastic, but apparently the guy actually has the room for one.

Not to mention the _screaming _the moment Urahara opens the latch. How did Urahara manage to get a Hollow down here? It must be what Kurosaki is fighting against, right? Its presence is unmistakable.

As Grimmjow continues to descend the ridiculously long ladder, he starts noticing something is off. While the reiatsu of the Hollow is like a beacon down here, he can't get a fix on Kurosaki. The more he goes down the stronger the feeling gets. Where is he?

Now he peers out over the training ground once more, he can't see any sign of activity either. Forgoing the ladder altogether, having only descended halfway, he jumps down the rest of the way, falling down past Urahara and heading towards the source of the Hollow reiatsu. Maneuvering around the rocks, he finds a direct pathway to where the Hollow is.

But all he sees is a hole, dark reiatsu pulsing out of it like a fountain.

Glancing over his shoulder, he notices Urahara approaching, but he doesn't care to wait for him to give an explanation. Is Kurosaki in that hole, fighting the Hollow? Is that why he couldn't sense his presence, because he was so close to it?

Approaching the edge, he peers down into the darkness.

Now, Grimmjow is not a guy easily shocked. He's seen his share of pretty gruesome stuff, desensitized even to the worst of it by now, but some things can still throw him off his guard. Some things are so strange, so _unnatural_, that even the most hardened Arrancar would need a double-take.

"What the_ fuck_?"

Seeing Ichigo Kurosaki, arms bound behind his back in his soul form, well on his way to transforming into a Hollow as inhuman shrieks tear from his throat, is undoubtedly one of those things.


	7. ZANGETSU

**22/11/16 Note:** So, it's been exactly two years since I last updated it, and by now Bleach has even ended, but I felt like throwing myself at this story again seeing as how I got a ridiculous amount of reviews for it!

I still remember the direction I wanted to take this story in, though I've got a lot of fresh ideas and a lot more experience. Hopefully it'll show in my writing! Also, note that Yhwach won't be in this story whatsoever, and Aizen will be the "final villain", as it were. Which means Zangetsu's design will be pre-Quincy arc as well, so no dual-wielding for Ichigo, lol.

Anyway, glad to be back, sorry for the hiatus, and hope you enjoy!

* * *

**VII: ZANGETSU**

There are buildings—skyscrapers—standing in an impossible horizontal angle. The sky is a vivid blue that reminds him too much of half-lidded eyes, and he's almost dizzy from the warped feeling of gravity that somehow still manages to feel natural.

"This… what is this place?" Ichigo wonders aloud, blinking slowly as he sits up, disoriented. His environment, although he has never seen it before, is intensely familiar. It looks like any other metropolis in the world, like Tokyo or New York, but there is no life to grant it the bustling noises that are part of the urban life. The silence should be unsettling, but instead, it only feels peaceful.

'_Why do I feel so at ease here?' _

A deep voice calls out to him, breaking through the quiet. "I'm over here."

As he turns his head to look, he sees a dark cloaked figure, standing on top of a long pole, balancing comfortably on his toes. His hair sways as much in the wind as his cloak does, eyes shaded by yellow glasses, his expression stern and solemn.

"Who…" Ichigo is about to ask for the identity of the strange figure, but stops himself before the question can even leave his lips. He suddenly remembers his purpose here; unlocking his Shinigami powers.

Hat-and-clogs told him about Zanpakutō; the manifestation of a Shinigami's spirit turned into their weapon and shield. He said Ichigo would know if he saw his, told him to trust his gut instinct, and something about this figure with the sunglasses goes against that same gut instinct. It is not a sense of alarm, and Ichigo doesn't think he's an enemy—perhaps just a different kind of entity, but not the one he's looking for.

"You're not him," It occurs to Ichigo, the epiphany sinking in as he gazes intently at the cloaked man, whose eyes widen slowly. "You're not my Zanpakutō."

The stranger stares back for what feels like hours, no words spoken as Ichigo stares back at him, without any sort of suspicion or wariness in his gaze. Simply a curiosity, an inquiring, and a request. The cloaked man closes his eyes, head bowed slightly, as if he has admitted defeat.

"How did you know?"

That's a good question, for which the only answer is a simple one. Ichigo grins. "Call it instinct."

_Instinct_.

It pulses, windows around him shattering. The world around him seems to howl, his heartbeat launching into a fast-paced drumbeat inside his chest. The sky above him becomes dotted with dark clouds as he's thrown into anxiety, feeling as if he has just opened a cage he shouldn't have.

_INSTINCT_

The dark figure smiles just for a moment before he cracks like painted glass, the colors peeling away, having been covering the real person covered by it. Black fades away into white, skin sheds to reveal something new, a wicked grin and golden eyes swimming in a black sclera peering at him with a madman's smirk.

Ichigo carefully pushes himself up into a standing position, struck by the twisted mirror image of himself that has taken the place of the cloaked man, his carbon copy with all the colors gone, save for his eyes, glinting fiercely.

This feels right. This feels like what he has been searching for.

The comfort from before is gone. All his muscles are tense, as if he's in the presence of a predator. He remembers this feeling. It is akin to what he felt when he first encountered a man with shockingly blue hair—the memory puts him right at ease again.

A predator, yes. But perhaps not entirely malicious.

"Who are you?"

His twin clad in white watches him, his smile growing even wider.

_**INSTINCT**_

Ichigo frowns, confused. He's certain he heard a voice just now, but the pale newcomer's lips haven't even moved yet.

"_Don't you recognize me?" _

The voice is distorted and warbled, an azure tongue peeking out from behind teeth as white as the skin surrounding them, as if the newcomer is speaking underwater.

At Ichigo's puzzled silence, the man opens his mouth once more, but this time, even as his mouth moves, Ichigo doesn't catch any of it, as if an invisible wall is blocking sound between them.

"I can't hear you!" Ichigo calls, taking a few steps to get closer.

The pale figure's smirk falters, and he shakes his head.

"_You oughtta know who I am," _he says, and this time Ichigo can understand him clearly. "_Ain't this _your _world, after all?" _

Yeah, Hat-and-clogs told him about this, didn't he? His inner world. This must be it. Then that white figure—

"You're my Zanpakutō, right?" Ichigo replies, and the man snorts, amused. "Your name—what's your name?"

White—it seems as good a temporary name as any—shifts on the pole, and _somehow _he moves from standing on the tip of it to standing horizontally on the length of it, lined with the buildings. While Ichigo wonders how in the hell the guy is pulling that off without falling down on the ground, he feels the gravity shift.

Suddenly he loses his footing on the building he'd been standing on, plummeting down to the surface as if gravity just lassoed him and is yanking him towards it. He screams his lungs out, horrified, hands grasping futilely in the air in an attempt to get a hold of something, anything.

"_You're gonna have to work for that!" _White responds, jumping off the pole and shooting down like a bullet until he's falling down together with Ichigo, a maniacal grin twisting his lips. _"What's wrong? You wanna be a Shinigami, don't you? Standing on air should be a piece of cake!" _

"I'm not a Shinigami yet!" Ichigo yells, too panicked about falling to his death to be angry at White's mocking tone. "Stop messing around and just tell me your—"

"_Heh, it's up to you to figure it out!" _White looks far too delighted when boxes appear out of thin air around them, as if raining down from the sky. The grin on his lips fades for just a moment, and Ichigo swears that the face that's looking at him is the face of every monster in every closet and under every bed he imagined as a child. _"If you don't hurry, __**I'll devour you**__." _

Hollow.

Shinigami.

_Instinct_.

He falls, light fades, and water swallows him.

* * *

"I admit, it is a dangerous method, but it is also the fastest," Urahara explains carefully, standing a safe distance away from the incensed man who's practically grinding his teeth, right hand hovering close to the hilt of Pantera. "And Ichigo did insist on the fastest route, as you'll recall."

"He's a fucking kid, you dumb shit; he doesn't know any better!"

"My, my, Grimmjow, is that concern I'm sensing?"

The twinkle in Urahara's eyes sets him off even further, but his words give Grimmjow reason to pause. The outrage was an impulsive reaction, but as his rationality sets back in, he has to wonder—why _does _he care to this extent what happens to Kurosaki?

Grimmjow isn't sentimental, as he has no use for those kinds of feelings from an evolutionary standpoint. Neither compassion nor empathy will help you survive in the planes of Hueco Mundo. In fact, they can often be detrimental, a way for others to take advantage of you. He discarded them—or rather, suppressed them—the moment he felt the tiniest inkling of it. He's certain he feels nothing akin to such weak emotions towards Kurosaki, either.

To turn Kurosaki into a Hollow would simply ruin him, Grimmjow decides. It would ruin that intriguing, unique reiatsu he possesses, corrupting it and twisting it into something undoubtedly powerful, but something familiar all the same, something Grimmjow would share with him and has been around his entire life.

Constancy. Regularity. Normalcy.

In a way, Kurosaki is the opposite of all these things. He's different. Just by _knowing _him Grimmjow's life has taken a very odd twist—Kurosaki, in his mind, is the embodiment of change. To break that would be to destroy everything that is interesting about him, and he cannot let that happen. Grimmjow has already picked him apart, set him aside as being a curiosity only for him to explore, a potential nemesis that could promise a lot of fun in the future. Nothing and no one is allowed to fuck with that claim.

The possessiveness here is completely selfish, anyway. It is almost as if Kurosaki is being prepared like a lamb for the slaughter, but even Grimmjow is not completely heartless in this matter.

Becoming a Hollow is nothing short of going through hell itself. Being sucked into a being where hundreds, _thousands _of other souls dwell, not knowing whether you'll come out on top or disappear the very next second, is pure torment. Even if you do come out on top and evolve, the fight simply continues on the outside, constantly. Killing, eating, fighting, surviving, degraded to a mere animal clawing its way back up the food chain.

It might be a fate he'd wish upon his worst enemy, but not some starry-eyed kid still hopeful for the future and so damned innocent. Grimmjow might be a monster, but only to a certain extent.

"If his will is strong enough," Urahara says, snapping him out of his frustrated pondering, "then he'll overcome it, and be stronger for it."

Grimmjow relaxes slightly. If this is purely about willpower, then he has nothing to worry about. Kurosaki is just about as stubborn as they come; he'll pull through it.

And if he doesn't, then maybe he was never worthy to face Grimmjow in the first place. He still doesn't like Urahara's insane method, but there is a cold-hearted logic to it that appeals to him as well. It's a test in its own way. Still, he believes Kurosaki will come out of it victorious; Grimmjow's judgment is rarely off the mark, and he'll be damned if he's wrong this time.

He peers back down the hole, watching white substance crawl over Kurosaki's limbs, a mask forming on his face, his continuous screeching starting to irritate. The writhing and twitching continues as the thick reiatsu streaming out of the hole increases, and Grimmjow sits down on the edge of it, legs hanging down with an elbow on his knee, seated as an observer.

'_Fight to win, kid.'_

* * *

_Trust your instinct_.

He's going to drown. He feels his consciousness ebbing away, as if being slowly drained from him as he sinks further and further down into what seems to be an endless ocean that only gets darker the farther down he goes, boxes all around him.

One of these boxes contains the answers. But there are so many of them—how is he supposed to find the right one in time?

_What does your gut-feeling tell you?_

Ichigo looks around, too dazed to even think about the fact that he's not actually drowning. It feels more like he's falling asleep. Boxes, everywhere, and he has no idea where to start.

_You are me._

He reaches for one, pulling it to him and opening it up. Empty.

_I am you._

White exuded something dark and twisted, but something undeniably powerful, and not entirely dark either. A unique sensation. If he concentrates on that, if he tries to look specifically for that feeling, the feeling of being a mouse trapped between the claws of a beast—

_**Find me.**_

Among the dozens of boxes floating around him, he sees one drifting several feet away, and there's a sting in his chest, like the sudden prick of a large needle. As he focuses on that single box, the feeling only grows stronger, the single sting turning into a buzzing sensation, like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart.

'_There_!'

He swims towards it and grabs it with both hands, nearly tearing it to pieces in desperation as he feels his energy fading, arms starting to grow weaker, vision blurring.

Inside, once opened, he finds the hilt of a sword sticking out from what seems like a white void within the box.

"_You actually did it." _White is suddenly beside him, but Ichigo is oddly enough not startled by his presence, as if he's always just been there. White almost looks disappointed. _"Guess I don't have a choice now but to tell you my name." _

The world starts shaking, and the skyscrapers towering up above the water are starting to crumble. White's jaw clenches, a deep scowl furrowing his brows.

"_What are you doing, you shithead?" _he screams, voice barely drowning out the noise of collapsing buildings. "_Open up the fucking box!" _

Startled back into action, Ichigo grasps the hilt and tries to pull, but it won't budge.

Buildings keep collapsing.

* * *

After a few minutes, the two kids from before have descended down to the training ground as well and join Grimmjow, watching the gradual transition of a human soul into a Hollow. There seem to be no end to it, waves of reiatsu pulsing through the air until it starts reaching a breaking point.

For all of Grimmjow's relaxed bearing, the tension in his shoulders gives his thoughts away. His eyes narrow as a sudden burst of twisted, dark energy blows into his face like the wind of a hurricane, distorting the very air around him. Kurosaki roars, and the restraints on his arms snap with the flexing of his muscles. The Shinigami down below in the hole next to him seems to take this as a signal.

"I think it's over, boss!" the large man with the glasses yells. "I'm switching to elimination mode!"

Is it too late after all?

Urahara is silent, and the other Shinigami goes on to using a Kidō spell, slamming his fingers into the ground.

"_Bakudō number 99, Bankin! First Song, Halting Wrap_!"

White energy that is released from the Shinigami coalesces into a thick, white fabric, covering itself around Kurosaki from head to toe.

"_Second Song, Hundred Serial Bolts_!"

Numerous metal bolts impale the kid wherever they can hit him, restraining his movements even as the cries continue.

"Oi, Tessai! What are you doing? If you use that, won't the guy die for sure?" the red-haired boy from before calls down in a panic.

"That can't be avoided! I must restrain him and eliminate him before he turns into a Hollow!" the Shinigami, Tessai, replies, resolute on what he must do. "_Final Song, Full Ban Great Mount_!"

This is pathetic, isn't it? After all that potential, all that promise, Kurosaki is going to end up getting smashed by a giant metal cube like an insect under a boot.

Lips twisted into an almost disgusted snarl, Grimmjow gets up and turns his back on the hole, a bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he starts walking away. He really thought Kurosaki would be stronger than this, but in the end—

Something in the atmosphere changes.

The reiatsu skyrockets, and even from where he is standing Grimmjow can hear the heavy breath of the creature on the bottom of that pit. He looks over his shoulder, eyes wide at the monstrous aura that for a moment seems to completely surpass his and Urahara's.

"What the fuck is—"

An enormous explosion follows that rocks the very earth he's standing on, and before the dust can even clear up, something bolts out of the hole, shooting through the air and landing a small distance away like an arrow.

All sound dies. Grimmjow watches, pulse beating like war drums as the smoke starts fading away. Is that Kurosaki? The redheaded kid is yelling at whatever just escaped from that pit, having been protected from the blast by Urahara, but there's no response.

For a moment, it feels as if Grimmjow is back in the valleys of Hueco Mundo, one predator facing off against another, a battle for life and death just mere seconds away. The kick of adrenaline is invigorating, the anticipation making his fingers twitch as his eyes are fixated on the footsteps sounding from beyond the veil of dust.

Kurosaki steps out. In that split-second of clear vision, he looks like every other Arrancar Grimmjow has seen in Las Noches—but the tension deflates from his body the moment he picks up on the reiatsu.

It is calm, much smaller now, and only has part of a Hollow's tinge, the rest of it reminding him strongly of a Shinigami. Kurosaki is dressed in black robes, and has a ridiculously big sword strapped to his back, wrapped in cloth. He pulls the remaining fabric from the Kido spell off his body, and then reaches for the mask, wrapping his fingers around the edges and yanking it off his face.

"Huh," Kurosaki huffs as he looks over the mask in curiosity, turning it around in his fingers before looking up to the others present, his eyes first landing on Grimmjow. Catching this wide-eyed look, Kurosaki smirks. "Surprise!"

Before Grimmjow can even reply, Urahara blatantly butts into the conversation, literally standing in between the two with his stupid fucking fan and his usual jovial grin. "Congratulations, you have completely turned into a Shinigami! Good job!"

"Shut up!" Kurosaki snaps, smile instantly falling away as he kicks a rock straight into Urahara's face, landing it perfectly. "I nearly turned into a freaking Hollow down there, you crazy bastard! If you'd told me beforehand—"

Urahara, rubbing over the red mark on his forehead, blinks. "You succeeded, didn't you? I knew you could do it!" Thumbs up.

A vein pops on Kurosaki's forehead.

"THAT'S NOT THE ISSUE HERE!"

"Do you even know how to use that thing?" Grimmjow interrupts coolly, staring at the ridiculously large sword on Kurosaki's back. No doubt it weighs less than it looks, adapting itself to its wielder, but that doesn't mean Kurosaki will suddenly gain instant skill in how to actually use it.

"Sort of," Kurosaki says with a shrug, grabbing the hilt and pulling it off his back, the cloth wrapping coming apart instantly to reveal the sleek but large, black blade with its silver edge.

He gives it an experimental swing, cutting down vertically, and Grimmjow almost suppresses a scoff—he has the barest of basics down, though not much else can be expected from a 13-year-old human child. What truly matters is how he'll do in an actual fight.

As if Urahara has read his thoughts, he says, "Well then, time to test it out!"

Kurosaki frowns slightly. "You mean sparring?"

"No, no!" Urahara waves his fan around. "I was thinking more along the lines of killing a Hollow."

"What? _Already_?" Kurosaki's eyes widen, glancing at Grimmjow, at which point the determined look returns to his face and he shakes off his shock. "Alright, then. Where to?"

"That's the spirit!" Urahara commends him. "But first, I think a warm-up exercise is in order. Ururu?"

The girl, who has been quiet the entire time, suddenly bolts straight towards Kurosaki with surprising speed, her attack barely dodged by Kurosaki who ducks with a shriek as her kick brushes over his hair.

"WHAT THE HELL?"

Urahara happily ignores his cries, instead turning to Grimmjow, who's not sure what he should think of the situation other than the fact that Shinigami are apparently absolutely batshit insane, and that says a lot considering the Arrancar he knows.

"I trust you'll help Ichigo find his way around?" he says to Grimmjow, who scowls instantly.

"You want me to baby-sit him?" he scoffs. "No deal."

"On the contrary, this is very much part of the deal." Urahara's happy facade melts away as Kurosaki dodges punches and kicks for dear life in the background, trying very hard to run away from the murderous little girl. "I wouldn't mention this to him yet, but I suspect Aizen might have his eye on him."

"Aizen?" Grimmjow repeats incredulously, frown only deepening. "What would Aizen want with the kid? He's got potential, but right now—"

"His potential is exactly why I believe Aizen has an interest in him," Urahara replies, more serious than Grimmjow has ever seen him. "Ichigo is unique; his powers are Shinigami, Hollow, Quincy, and he's human on top of it. A perfect blend, though not yet balanced."

"So he's special," Grimmjow surmises. "But what does Aizen want? To kill him? Recruit him?"

"Eat him, probably."

Grimmjow blinks. "What."

Kurosaki flies by, crashing into a nearby rock, and Urahara smiles, patting Grimmjow on the shoulder.

"Do keep him safe."

Before Grimmjow can say anything more, Urahara turns away and starts cheering Kurosaki on, leaving Grimmjow in complete confusion on whether he was being serious or not. The concept of eating a soul isn't exactly foreign to him, to say the least, but Shinigami can't eat souls, can they? Unless they mutated in the past couple of centuries and no one bothered to tell him, in which case he'd better watch his back around Urahara.

Growing tired of glaring at the back of Urahara's head, Grimmjow shifts his gaze to the sparring pair, noting that Ichigo has finally gained a grip on a fighting style—he swings his sword wildly and with brute force, but he's agile as well, ducking and rolling and dodging when Ururu unleashes a barrage of attacks. He has good instincts, as well.

When he blocks another one of Ururu's kicks with the flat side of his blade, he uses the split-second opening to counter with a kick of his own, hitting her in the stomach and sending her tumbling down a few feet, at which point Urahara calls the match off.

"Don't work up too much of a sweat, now!" He looks far too pleased with himself, flapping that stupid fan around. "I think that should be enough. Why don't you and Grimmjow go for a good old Hollow hunt?"

He hates the way those brown eyes light up at the suggestion, as if a battle is a trip to the zoo. It reminds Grimmjow of how painfully naïve Kurosaki still is, that he's still a _child_, and suddenly he feels his patience with the whole situation wearing thin.

"Sure, we'll just—hey!" Kurosaki calls after him when he notices Grimmjow already walking off towards the ladder. "Wait for me, stupid old man!"

"Keep up," Grimmjow gripes, and with a single jump he flies several feet into the air in a large arch towards the ladder, landing right below the latch to the shop, Kurosaki squawking indignantly at the sudden show of strength.

Grimmjow glances down at him once, finding Kurosaki in mid-jump in an imitation of his own and managing well enough as he ends up only a few feet below him. With an unimpressed _tch_ Grimmjow turns away, slipping through the hole and climbing out into the small store, not bothering to wait for Kurosaki as he continues on his way to the exit.

"Would you just wait a damn minute?" Kurosaki continues to shout behind him, and Grimmjow is already out in the street when he finally catches up. "What's with you, all of a sudden?"

"I shouldn't be here," Grimmjow says, and it slips out of him so suddenly and instinctively that he's startled at his own admission, which only serves to fuel his frustration, the glare on his face intensifying. He must've been a complete asshole in his past life as a human, because he can't think of any other reason for why he's suffering through this bullshit now.

Kurosaki regards him silently for a moment, before asking in a very quiet voice, "You want to go back?"

"No. Yes." A scowl. "Probably."

"Probably?"

"I should be in Hueco Mundo," Grimmjow replies irritably. "That's just how it's supposed to work—when you're a Hollow, that's your home, but that doesn't mean I _want _to go there."

"You want to stay here?" Kurosaki says, and the hopeful tone almost makes Grimmjow recoil.

"No."

Now Kurosaki looks confused. "Then what _do_ you want?"

Grimmjow falls silent for a while. What does he want? A good fight, he supposes. But beyond that?

"Hell if I know," he mutters, and starts walking again, Kurosaki pausing to watch his back for a moment before catching up again and walking beside him. Grimmjow looks down at him in some consideration, thinking back to what Urahara said about potential, but then shakes his head and brushes the thought off.

"What is it, Grimmjow?" Kurosaki asks curiously, having noticed the unusually complicated look on his face.

Grimmjow meets the interested gaze and stares at this kid with a sword too big for his body strapped to his back, staring up at him as if he's some sort of idol to be worshiped. He would've laughed had it been anyone but him in this utterly bizarre situation.

Instead, he decides to take it in stride, since that's the only thing he _can _do.

"Let's find you a Hollow, kid."


	8. HUNT

**27/11/16 Note: **I retconned a tiny thing about Ichigo with this new chapter—wonder if anyone will manage to spot the change? I also added/adjusted some things in terms of how things work in canon in terms of the whole soul-process, simply because it was always left a bit unclear.

Also, since it's been so long since I updated, and I wrote this chapter from scratch, you might notice my writing style has changed a bit in comparison to other chapters. I hope the change isn't too jarring (and an improvement, haha). Anyway, thanks for the warm welcome back guys! Hope you won't mind all the exposition in this chapter too much! Enjoy!

* * *

**VIII: HUNT**

"Grimmjow," Ichigo says when they've been roaming about the town for nearly three minutes in complete silence, "where are we going?"

Grimmjow doesn't look at him—he just continues walking, hands in his pockets. "Just be quiet and follow me."

Giving him a skeptical look, Ichigo opens his mouth to say something when he nearly bumps into a woman heading down the street, managing to slip to the side just in time to let her through. While having Shinigami powers feels absolutely _amazing_, he still has to get used to the invisibility-thing.

Urahara told him that it was important he develop them as fast as possible, and though he didn't really say why, but it probably has something to do with Aizen. Ichigo wonders if this means he'll be targeted; having already killed his parents, it's only reasonable to assume Aizen might want to come back to finish the job. In which case, Ichigo had better—

A hand suddenly slaps the back of his head.

"Ow!" Ichigo's fingers reach into his hair, glaring up at Grimmjow. "What was that for?"

"Stop thinking about pointless shit," Grimmjow replies languidly, coming to a stop at the corner of the street. While he looks completely disinterested, Ichigo wonders if Grimmjow could actually tell that he was worried, and tried to make him stop in his own (if insensitive) way.

"I wouldn't have to think about pointless sh… stuff if you just told me—"

"_Stuff_?" Grimmjow repeats, turning his head slightly to glance down at Ichigo now, brows raised in a mocking look. "What's wrong, kid? Run out of money for the swear jar?"

Ichigo scowls. "I can say it! I just don't want to."

More like years of conditioning via belt-beatings made him all but physically incapable of saying anything that even so much as _approaches _a swear, but that's not something Grimmjow needs to know. Just teaching himself how to say "jerk" without flinching had taken him at least a dozen attempts.

"Right." Grimmjow looks entirely unimpressed. "Not sure what I was expecting anyway; you don't even look like you've hit puberty yet."

Ichigo flushes. "It's just a stupid word! Cussing doesn't make you a grown-up!"

That earns him a flick on the forehead. "You lookin' down on me now, you shitty brat?"

"No," Ichigo huffs moodily, rubbing the spot between his brows that Grimmjow's finger assaulted. He's tired of being treated like a kid, even though that's what he very much is in pretty much every respect—not that he'll be admitting it any time soon. "And stop calling me a brat."

"Then stop being one," Grimmjow replies brusquely. "Just looking at the state of your sword proves you're a damn long way from growing up."

"What?" Ichigo scowls. "What's wrong with my sword?"

"The hell do you mean, what's wrong with your sword?" Grimmjow scoffs. "You've just been swinging it around in its released state like it's nothing! Cover that shit up, will ya? Amateur."

Ichigo blinks in confusion, cocking his head to the side. "Released state?"

Grimmjow gives him a long stare.

"That hat-wearing asshole didn't tell you anything about Shinigami, did he?"

"Nope."

Grimmjow scrunches up his nose as if he's just tasted something disgusting, and Ichigo's lips almost wobble into a smile as he tries to hold back the laughter at the odd expression on Grimmjow's face.

"Fine," Grimmjow decides irritably. "Guess you'll have to ask him when we get back."

"Why can't you just explain it?"

"I ain't a Shinigami." His reply is even more curt than it usually is, eyes shifting away from Ichigo to look at something in the distance. "You better ask one of your own kind."

One of _his own_ kind? Ichigo frowns slightly at the wording, feeling as if he's just been pushed away—a sensation he knows all too well, though he never thought it would come from Grimmjow. The scowling look on Grimmjow's face relays it's probably best not to ask too many questions now, though, so instead Ichigo decides to look around a bit. He notices something weird as he glances up and down the now entirely empty street.

They've been standing at this corner for a while now, haven't they?

"Hey, Grimmjow, what are we—"

An ear-splitting shriek interrupts him, and Grimmjow's eyes narrow, gaze pinned on a large alleyway cloaked in shadow right across the street. Ichigo is about to ask him how in the world he figured out the Hollow would come here, when the very next second he gives Ichigo such a hard clap on the back that he stumbles forward a few steps, right in between Grimmjow and the alleyway.

"Get slicing, kid," Grimmjow says, and disappears with a short _boom_.

Ichigo stares slack-jawed at where Grimmjow was standing a moment ago, before something large and black moving down the alley catches his eye.

A Hollow the shape of a perfectly round ball, rolling straight at him.

"Are you _KIDDING ME_?" Ichigo screams in sheer panic as he immediately turns and starts running, not even thinking about unsheathing (or, in his case, unclothing) his sword.

The Hollow sounds like a huge boulder heading straight towards him, quickly closing in the distance. It becomes quickly apparent that even with his Shinigami abilities, he can't outrun the thing—he feels it all but a hair's breadth away when he dives to the left, and the Hollow slams into a lamppost instead. Metal claps like violent thunder under the force, the lamppost ripped out of the cement and falling over onto the pavement as the Hollow is still for just a moment.

Ichigo spots its mask, smiling with a horrid grin and yellow eyes aimed up to the sky, disappearing again a moment later when the Hollow slowly rolls back from the bent lamppost and turns to face him.

"What are you doing, you idiot?" Grimmjow's voice comes, somewhere from his left, but Ichigo can't afford to look away from the Hollow. "Use your sword!"

Oh, right.

As if woken up from a trance, Ichigo quickly grabs ahold of Zangetsu's hilt, pulling it out of its cloth. Even with its massive size in front of him, the Hollow still dwarfs it—how is he supposed to cut that thing?

_Don't hesitate_.

Ichigo glances down once at the blade, its edge glinting sharply in sunlight like the spark of a star. Zangetsu is an extension of his soul, so if he believes it enough to cut through that thing, then it will be.

"Alright, let's do this!" Ichigo takes his stance, feet planted firmly on the ground, fingers clenched around the cloth-wrapped hilt.

As if on cue (or perhaps sensing his challenge) the Hollow starts rolling in place, another terrible shriek bursting from it like a shockwave, briefly throwing him off with the sheer force of it. His head aches and suddenly the sun shining in his eyes feels too sharp, sweat forming right above his brow.

_DON'T HESITATE._

The Hollow shoots forward like a bullet, Ichigo's arms tremble, Zangetsu's weight seems to double in his hands, and before he can properly raise his blade overhead he already knows—

A flash of blue and a bang that reverberates through the ground, Ichigo's eyes widening at the sight before him. Grimmjow stands in front of him, the tip of his _index finger _pressed against the Hollow, stopping it from moving.

The same Hollow that just utterly ruined a lamppost.

"How did you—"

Grimmjow glances back at him over his shoulder, the glare in his eyes silencing Ichigo instantly.

"Pathetic," he spits, and with a flick of his finger, the Hollow is thrown back at least a dozen feet, slamming into the wall of a building, making its structure tremble like an earthquake. "Again."

The very next second he's gone, and Ichigo is left alone with the Hollow once more.

As the Hollow slowly rolls a bit forward, shrieking again and sending sharp stabs of pain through his eardrums, Ichigo takes a deep breath. That was downright embarrassing, he should be able to do better than that. If he ever wants to match Grimmjow, Ichigo can't lose to something that was so easily swatted away by him.

It's just an overgrown soccer ball with an ugly face.

He can do this.

Ichigo considers his attack carefully as the Hollow finally stops shrieking. As much as he hates to admit it, he just doesn't have the strength yet to cut that thing clean in two—he's still growing, barely used to his Shinigami powers.

In that case—

As the Hollow starts rolling in place again, Ichigo gets ready, but not with an overhead swing this time.

When the Hollow shoots forward, leaving dust in its wake, Ichigo widens his stance, waits until the Hollow is _just _close enough, and thrusts.

Zangetsu's blade slips into the Hollow's body like a knife slicing through melted butter, but the speed of the Hollow's roll is as much a disadvantage as it is an advantage. Since Zangetsu doesn't have a guard, the blade disappears into the Hollow past the hilt, Ichigo barely managing to not get bowled over as his feet slide backwards on the ground, burning into the soles of his sandals while he pushes back against the Hollow with a grunt.

It's only when he comes to a standstill several feet away from where he first stood that the pain in his arms registers. The Hollow makes a gross gurgling noise, purple-colored liquid (Hollow blood?) seeping onto Ichigo's hands that are barely holding onto the end of Zangetsu's hilt.

Out of breath from the effort, Ichigo wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his forearm, looking at the sword stuck in the dying Hollow. Flexing his fingers, Ichigo grabs it, trying to pull it out, but the thing refuses to budge.

"Oh, come on!" he groans, bracing himself with a foot against the Hollow's body, and with a last attempt he finally manages to yank Zangetsu free, toppling over backwards onto the ground as more blood gushes out of the Hollow. "Ugh."

A dull booming sound on his left notifies him of Grimmjow's appearance, and when Ichigo dares to peek up at his face he spots—not dissatisfaction, entirely. Just a slight frown while he looks at the Hollow that is now starting to disintegrate on the spot. Because apparently Hollows do that when they die.

"Woah," Ichigo breathes, getting up off the ground, hauling Zangetsu up with him as he watches the corpse slowly disappear into bits and pieces that are blown away by the wind. He turns to look at Grimmjow again, who hasn't said a single word. "So, um, how'd I do?"

Grimmjow all but looks down his nose at him.

Ichigo's shoulders sag. "That bad?"

"Forget about sword-training and abilities, the first thing you need is basic reiatsu-control. That, and building some muscle." As if to illustrate his point, Grimmjow reaches over and grabs Ichigo's upper arm, raising it up and squeezing it, ignoring the indignant cry over being manhandled. "Figures for a kid your age. Being a Shinigami might have taken the edge off some physical aspects, but if you don't start with the basics it'll be pointless to teach you anything else."

Now Ichigo's head sags along with his shoulders. He was so determined to make a big show out of defeating the Hollow too, hoping to… well, impress Grimmjow, he supposes. In the end, all he did was just prove his point about being a kid.

"We're heading back," Grimmjow says. "It's a fucking miracle you didn't dislocate a shoulder with that stupid move."

"What else was I supposed to do?" Ichigo huffs, getting testy. "Just let it run me over?"

"Coulda taken advantage of its ranged mobility and your environment, worn it out until it became more manageable—that lamppost it hit left a little dent in it, but I bet you didn't notice that. Took a pretty big hit from that wall, too."

Ichigo blinks. "Oh." He hadn't noticed that _at all_, so distracted by the size of it and the shrieks it emitted that he hadn't cared to observe anything else.

"Tch." Grimmjow starts walking, shoving his hands back into his pockets again. "You got a lot to learn, kid."

Ichigo watches his broad back for a moment, before quickly falling in step next to him. As expected as it might have been for Grimmjow to have picked up on what Ichigo didn't, it still surprises him. He peers up at Grimmjow's sharp profile, the furrow between short blue brows smoothed over into something more nonchalant.

When he first met Grimmjow, _clever _and _perceptive _weren't the first things that came to mind by a long shot. His looks might be a bit deceiving, but it only adds to the mountain-load of respect Ichigo already has for him. He's not just all brawn and no brain; there's plenty of things Ichigo can learn from him yet.

Grimmjow's gaze shifts to him. "What're you starin' at?"

Ichigo colors slightly, quickly averting his eyes. "Nothing."

The only problem is that Grimmjow isn't exactly the most willing teacher. This is very much exemplified the minute they return to the shop, because Grimmjow immediately finds Urahara and starts mouthing off a whole laundry-list of things that are wrong with Ichigo, demanding Urahara "fix" them before trying to hand him off to Grimmjow.

"I'm just supposed to be his look-out, not his damn personal trainer!"

"Oooh, personal trainer, you say?" Urahara laughs haughtily behind his fan. "What a swell idea, Grimmjow!"

Grimmjow's left eyebrow twitches. "What?"

"Since you seem to have already analyzed all of Ichigo's shortcomings so extensively, I think you'll make a great fit."

"You—" A vein pops on Grimmjow's forehead. "I told you I wasn't going to baby-sit the damn kid!"

"Then don't see it as baby-sitting! See it as…" Urahara pauses for a moment, smile widening behind his fan. "Bonding time!"

"_Bonding time_?"

Grimmjow looks entirely displeased by the prospect, and though Ichigo figured he wouldn't exactly be enthusiastic about the idea (when has Grimmjow ever been enthusiastic about anything but a fight?) the flat-out cold rejection still stings a little.

"Hey, hat-and-clogs, it's fine," Ichigo interrupts with a scowl. "I'll just train myself!"

The two adults turn to stare at him, one openly skeptical while the other looks apologetic.

"Do you even know where to start, kid?"

"While I admire your initiative, Ichigo, I don't think that's—"

"It's fine!" Ichigo declares with a beet red face, turning around and stalking towards the storage room, hearing a loud sigh and a huff behind him, before loud footsteps follow after him.

"Oi, slow down."

Ichigo marches towards the latch, reaching down to open it, when a large hand clenches down around his shoulder and yanks him back.

"I said slow down," Grimmjow repeats with an annoyed frown, Ichigo shrugging his hand off, which only deepens the wrinkle between his brows. "Stop acting like a brat and listen."

"I already heard you—you don't want to train me," Ichigo mumbles grumpily, crossing his arms and tucking his hands between the folds of his elbows as he glares at the floorboards. He hears Grimmjow sigh irritably.

"Look, kid, I know you've got abandonment issues, but don't take them out on me, alright?" Ichigo stiffens. "Didn't I already tell you once before I'd make a shit older brother? I'm the worst person to get attached to, especially for you."

Hesitantly, Ichigo lifts his gaze to peek at Grimmjow from underneath his eyelashes. "What… what d'you mean by that?"

"I'm a Hollow," Grimmjow says matter-of-factly, "and you're a Shinigami. In truth, I should be trying to kill you. It just so happens that we have a common enemy, and if that means kicking your ass into shape so you don't become a liability—"

Ichigo perks up. "So you'll train me?"

Grimmjow looks as if he's regretting it already, not that it's enough to dampen Ichigo's hopeful mood. "Fuckin' hat-wearing asshole," he mutters to himself before turning back to Ichigo. "Fine, whatever, but you'll have to start from the very bottom."

"Okay!" Unable to suppress his huge grin, Ichigo focuses his full attention on his new teacher. "What's first?"

Three hours later, he sorely regrets asking that question.

"What's with this stupid training?" Ichigo yells, sweat soaking through his shirt, not caring about the weird looks he's getting from bystanders as he shouts at what to them appears to be air, but is actually where Grimmjow is standing, with his hands in his pockets.

Ichigo has been doing all kinds of ridiculous fitness exercises, but all of them in his human body. He first assumed all the training was going to take place in his Shinigami form, but Grimmjow disillusioned him on that immediately.

"I already told you," Grimmjow says, looking entirely unconcerned with Ichigo's actual progress, "you need to build muscle, and some stamina while you're at it."

"But how does training in my body help my Shinigami powers?"

Grimmjow gives him a look, and Ichigo would've blushed in embarrassment had he not already been red in the face from running his ass off through the entirety of Karakura Town. He just said something incredibly dumb-sounding, didn't he?

"Alright, let me explain this to you once so I never have to hear that dumbass question ever again," Grimmjow starts, Ichigo wincing slightly at his tone. "When you become a Hollow, you become stronger by eating other souls. When you're a Shinigami, you become stronger by training with your Zanpakutō. It's because we don't have physical bodies that our source for power solely comes from the soul, either our own or that of other creatures, depending on which side of the coin you're on.

"Humans are slightly different. If you're a human, your body and soul are linked—you saw the chain of fate, didn't you? Though yours has disappeared since becoming a Shinigami, you still own a human body. That means that whatever you do while you're in your body has a direct effect on what happens to your soul."

"Okay, so, if I train in my human body, my soul will get stronger too?"

"That's what I figure." Grimmjow's eyes narrow slightly as he gives Ichigo an appraising look. "The effect should be about double, maybe more than that, but it'll take time. Months, probably."

"I'm going to have to do this for _months_?"

"What, thought you could do it all in three days?" Grimmjow scoffs. "Don't be stupid."

"But what about training with my Zanpakutō? You said that's how Shinigami get stronger—why can't I do that instead?"

"Instead?" Grimmjow frowns. "What makes you think you won't be doing that at the same time?"

"You want me to work-out _and _train with Zangetsu? I don't have the time for all of that!" Ichigo exclaims, wiping the sweat off his face. "I have school, and homework, and—"

"You wanna get stronger or not?"

Ichigo falls silent at that. Of course he wants to get stronger—to defend himself, and to match Grimmjow one day. His reasons are admittedly selfish, but he has nothing to protect except for his life and his pride. If he wants to survive should Aizen ever decide to come for him, if he wants Grimmjow to look at him not as a silly little kid but an equal, then he _has _to become stronger.

"I'll do it," he says, looking up to stare Grimmjow in the eyes, who stares back for a long moment before his lips curve into a lopsided smirk.

"Whenever you look at me like that, like you want to catch up to me, I get a little pissed off." Grimmjow doesn't look it, though, apparently unconcerned about the contradiction. His hand comes down on top of Ichigo's head—and Ichigo's heart skips a beat, tripping over its own rhythm—but instead of ruffling his hair as Ichigo thought he was going to do, Grimmjow shoves his head into a bow instead. "Much better."

Huh. So he _was _a little pissed off after all.

"That hurt, you know," Ichigo mumbles as Grimmjow removes his hand again.

What was with that weird fluttering in his chest, anyway? He feels more flushed than he should be after taking a breather, too. Ichigo rubs his head, mulling it over, and decides he probably must've been working himself too hard. Or rather, _Grimmjow _must've been working him too hard.

"Save that look for when you can back it up, kid," the man in question says, but he doesn't sound angry, or even a little bit annoyed—instead, it sounds more like a challenge than anything else.

Well, challenge accepted.

"By the way, Grimmjow," Ichigo starts, side-eyeing an old man sitting on a bench a few feet ahead who has been sneaking worried glances at him for a while now. "Earlier, you said something about reiatsu-control." The guy must think he's insane, talking to himself in the middle of the sidewalk. Ichigo doesn't really care, though—if the people passing him don't bother to address him and just stick with staring, he figures it's fine.

"You'd better ask your Zanpakutō about that," Grimmjow replies. "He's the source of it, and he'd know how you ought to use it best."

There he goes again, trying to brush him off.

"You just don't feel like bothering, do you?" Ichigo says, glaring intently. Grimmjow scowls and slaps him upside the head. "Ow!"

"There's no point in me telling you, since reiatsu can be used in many different ways and I wouldn't know which way suits you best."

"Oh… really?" Feeling a bit stupid now, Ichigo averts his gaze, awkwardly shifting his weight around. "But, uh, how am I supposed to ask him? I have no idea how to get back into my inner world."

"Try meditating in your Shinigami form," Grimmjow responds.

It sounds like he's got an answer ready for everything, but there's something Ichigo can't quite figure out. "How do you know so much about all this stuff, anyway?"

He meant to ask the question earlier, but got side-tracked by Grimmjow's explanations. For just being a Hollow, as he puts it, he knows an awful lot about Shinigami as well.

Grimmjow looks at him for a moment, as if deciding on what to say, when he taps the hilt of the sword strapped to his side. Ichigo follows the movement of his fingers to the sheathed katana at his hip.

"Pantera."

Ichigo glances up. "What?"

"The name of my Zanpakutō," Grimmjow says, "is Pantera."

Ichigo blinks several times. "I thought you were a Hollow?"

"I am a Hollow."

"Then why do you have a Zanpakutō?"

"…"

"…"

"Anyway—"

"Hold on!" Ichigo interrupts loudly, pointing his finger at Grimmjow with a scowl. "You don't just get to say, _I'm a Hollow but by the way here is my Shinigami sword_ and then move on like nothing happened!"

"Stop whining!" Grimmjow snaps back. "I'm an evolved Hollow, alright? That's why I know so much, and that's all you need to know!"

Touchy subject, clearly, and one Ichigo definitely isn't letting go of, but for now he can file it away for future interrogation purposes. Maybe Urahara would know something about that? Either way, antagonizing Grimmjow any further isn't going to work out in his favour, so he might as well change the subject.

"That reminds me," Ichigo says, scrunching his nose slightly when he picks up the scent of his own sweat now that his shirt has dried up a bit, deciding he is in _desperate _need of a shower. "You said that Hollows become stronger by eating other souls. So, did you… I mean, do you still…"

"I haven't had to in a while," Grimmjow answers idly, as if they were just talking about the weather. Though, Ichigo supposes that since it's normal to him, it _would _be something like talking about the weather. "I don't remember eating any human souls, if that's what you're wondering. Most Hollows never leave Hueco Mundo. Besides which, human souls have very little reiatsu; no point in eating them, unless you get some weird kick out of it."

"Oh." He's not sure how to feel about that. In a way, Ichigo did worry about it—how would he feel had Grimmjow said that he had eaten humans in the past? The thought makes him queasy, and he doesn't think he'd ever really look at Grimmjow the same way again had that turned out to be the case.

Still, the way he talks about it…

"If you're thinking about how fucked up that sounds," Grimmjow says, startling Ichigo out of his thoughts, "then you're not wrong, but it's simply the way it works. When humans die, they can either get eaten by a Hollow or become one themselves if they don't move on. Basically, every Hollow used to be a human soul at one point in time."

"You too then, right?" Ichigo asks cautiously. "Do you remember anything from your human life?"

"No, and I don't want to," Grimmjow replies bluntly. "Whatever I was in a past life doesn't matter anymore."

Ichigo studies the distant look in Grimmjow's eyes curiously. He knows better than to start pitying him—if it doesn't bother Grimmjow, then Ichigo has no right to be bothered by it either. "I wonder what you were like as a human."

"Weak like the rest of you, probably," Grimmjow sneers, appearing slightly amused at Ichigo's indignant look. "But that's enough for one day, kid—better get your ass on home before someone starts missing you."

"They won't," Ichigo replies without second thought, not realizing he's said something weird until he notices the slight lift of Grimmjow's brows. "Uh, a-anyway, I should get going—thanks for the training, and see you tomorrow!"

He feels Grimmjow's stare burning into the space between his shoulder blades as he heads off in a slow jog, weaving through the crowds of people just coming home from work. Salarymen lugging around leather suitcases, and women clothed in bland dresses hurrying along on their heels.

Stupid—he really shouldn't have blurted that out. It's bad enough that Grimmjow looks down at him for being a kid, he doesn't need the added condescension about his Tragic Backstory to factor into that. At least Grimmjow isn't the type to pity him for it; that would've been even _worse_.

To his luck, Ichigo finds his house abandoned. Mrs. Fukui hasn't been home in a few days now, having left for a business trip (or more like having found a convenient excuse not to be around her alcoholic husband anymore) while Mr. Fukui has probably already left for the bar.

Up in the bathroom, Ichigo quickly strips out of his sweaty clothes and takes a quick, cold shower, soaking in a hot bath afterwards now that he has the time. Usually all he can do is shower when Mrs. Fukui is home before she starts complaining about him taking too long, so it's been a while since he's had a real bath.

He takes his time getting out, wrapping himself in a towel and heading into his room to get dressed in some pajamas so he can finish up his homework for next week. Passing by the mirror in the corner of his room, though, he pauses for a moment when catching his reflection, moving back in front of it.

Wearing only a towel around his hips, Ichigo almost flinches at the slim body staring back at him. Not that there's anything wrong with being a healthy amount of skinny—the irregularity of his meals probably has a lot to do with it—but compared to Grimmjow he might as well be the size of a toothpick.

It's not that he doesn't have _any _muscle, being that he practices karate, but he's only thirteen and doesn't work out enough for it to show beyond faint lines on his abs and a slight bulge when he flexes his arm-muscles.

Grimmjow, on the other hand, is toned from top to bottom, and he flaunts it as well. Either that, or he doesn't care enough to cover up—Ichigo isn't sure which is more likely. His biceps alone are twice the size of Ichigo's arms, chest chiseled like some sort of Greek statue, abdomen sharp and hard muscle all the way down his stomach—

Why is it suddenly getting so warm inside? His skin is starting to heat up—he can see the flush building from his neck and slowly creeping into his face in the mirror. He's not going to get sick, is he?

Shaking his head, he decides to dry off and change into some clothes.

And if his heart starts beating a bit faster at the thought of seeing Grimmjow again tomorrow, Ichigo is sure it's only because he is excited for more training.

After all, what else could it possibly be?


End file.
